


Watching You, Watching Me: Redemption

by deadinsidelikeme



Series: Watching You 'verse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Action & Romance, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Courtship, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Declarations Of Love, Demons, Despair, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Destiel, Episode Related, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Feels, Fic Redemption/Rewrite, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Getting Together, Hell Trauma, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Mental Health Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Sam Winchester, M/M, Magic, Manhandling, Mindfuck, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Torture, Resurrection, Rimming, Running Away, SPN/Buffy rules of death apply, Self-Doubting Dean Winchester, Sexual Tension, Sharing Clothes, Slow Build, Temporary Character Death, The Colt (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Toppy!Cas, Underage Drinking, Vampires, Watchers' Council (BtVS), Winchester (Supernatural) Coping Mechanisms, hunter!dean, watcher!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-07-10 18:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 77,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinsidelikeme/pseuds/deadinsidelikeme
Summary: Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU (loosely based on s3 plot)Dean Winchester, a young hunter who *really* doesn't think he needs a Watcher (especially some stuffy British librarian Watcher,) and Castiel Novak, a Watcher still struggling to prove himself are paired together by the Watcher's Council. From the beginning, they are drawn to one another and despite secrets, the apocalypse, and a prophecy or two, their lives will become inevitably entangled, for better or for worse.(This work is a complete work and will post at regular intervals.)





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Six years ago today, flush with inspiration and love of this fandom, I began posting the [original version](https://archiveofourown.org/works/893632/chapters/1725039) of the story contained herein. A little less than a year later, I stalled out entirely and thought this work would be left to languish, unfinished, forever. 
> 
> It seems entirely apropos that the updated, and now completed work, should begin posting on this day. 
> 
> This fic is my Everest, my Magnum Opus, my fandom lovechild left neglected for far, far too long. 
> 
> I hope readers and fans of the original work, as well as new readers, will enjoy what I've done with it.

_Prologue_

Dean woke with a start, flying up from a tangle of limbs and blankets and half-shrugged-off flannel to sit. Heart pounding, he reached for the knife beneath his pillow as he assessed his surroundings for whatever lurking, creeping threat had caused him to go from a dead sleep into full-on alert mode.

All around him bundled up in ancient hand-knit throws and only-slightly-mildewed sleeping bags lay his family and those he‘d come to think of as family; their dirty faces peaceful in the kind of sleep only found at the victorious end of a long, exhausting journey.

He felt the corners of his lips turn up in a cautious, hopeful smile.

A bare arm snaked around his waist and pulled him back down to the nubby, musty cushions, and he swallowed a yelp. Twisting around in the circle of arms, his smile grew. Castiel was deliciously rumpled, hair a tousled disaster with bruises beginning to blossom here and there beneath stubble and grime. But he was here, he was _alive_.

They all were. They’d somehow survived the apocalypse and saved the world. They’d earned the rest of heroes.

Cas’ warm hand slid from where it lay over his hip, tracing sleepily, almost sensually up his body to tuck beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, fingers slotting into place over the mark seared into his shoulder. He shivered, sucking a breath and his lower lip between his teeth. He opened his eyes to find Cas’ barely slit open, chips of midnight blue in the dusty pale light. Those fingers tightened, squeezing in acknowledgement before his lover rumbled out a sigh of contentment and drifted back off into sleep. His own eyelids heavy and cheeks aching with his smile, Dean could feel the weight of the past year falling from his shoulders as he followed his Watcher into serenity.

It was finally, really and truly _over._

****

_-September-_

Dean Winchester stared up at the unassuming façade of Sioux Falls High School and felt an uncharacteristic surge of anxiety. It wasn’t that the building itself was all that intimidating; as far as schools went it was pretty par for the course with its dull, khaki colored bricks, grime coated windows that someone had made a half-assed attempt at cleaning at one point dotting the front at regular intervals, the sidewalk cracked and weed-choked leading up to the double doors of the entrance.

No, it wasn’t that. At five months shy of his eighteenth birthday, Dean was a pretty confident guy with a fairly wide range of skills. That those skills happened to be hunting and killing monsters, charming his way into _or_ out of just about anything, and keeping his dad’s cherished ‘67 Chevy Impala in perfect working order didn’t exactly lend themselves to academic aptitude, but he liked to think he could hold his own.

The source of the squirming feeling in his guts at this particular moment however was the thought of pushing through those double doors and walking into a completely unfamiliar environment. Frankly he figured he should be at least used to the feeling by now. After the murder of his mother and the revenge driven, cross-country snipe hunt embarked upon by his father, Dean’s childhood wouldn’t ever have been described as stable. He and his little brother Sam had been shuffled from town to town and school to school, but this time it was different. This time John Winchester was dead and Dean and Sam were left trying to pick up the broken pieces of their family and move on with the help of their Uncle Bobby. Sioux Falls was supposed to be the fresh start that they both needed, and that made the feeling of not knowing a single soul even worse.

He’d already dropped Sammy off at his new middle school, a quick wave and a _‘Try not to get kicked out, Dean’_ and then he was on his own. His brother had been chattering non-stop on the drive in, his long, gangly-from-a-summer-growth-spurt body practically waggling with an invisible puppy-dog tail that had Dean rolling his eyes in exasperated fondness, and the silence had felt louder without it. Sam was smart, and curious about everything, always picking up random pieces of trivia or reporting to Dean about some tidbit of obscure lore he’d run across in one of Bobby’s crumbly old books. Compared to Dean, no matter how many times they had moved, Sam never seemed fazed by it, always ready to learn whatever he could from wherever he could.

Dean on the other hand, was doing everything he could to stall. He’d agonized in his bedroom at Bobby’s over what to wear, over the painstakingly styled bed head he hoped wasn’t already last month’s hair here, packed and repacked his canvas backpack until he could at least admit he was prepared for the supernatural, if nothing else. He shifted the bulk of the bag on his shoulder and braced himself, preparing to wade into uncharted waters once more. He found a small measure of comfort in the weight of his hunting knife sliding around the old Gatorade bottle of holy water and the Ziploc baggies full of rock salt that he’d stashed in there. He was loaded for demon, and any number of other assorted monsters.

Not that it would save him from the fate that awaited him.

He jumped when the final bell shrilled out over his head and bit out a curse as he glanced down at his watch. With more effort than he’d have liked to admit he pasted a cocky grin he didn’t remotely feel onto his face, pulled open the doors and stepped through.

**

He somehow managed to find the office without seeing another soul, releasing a sigh of relief as he tugged open the door. With an apologetic smile, he ducked his head and greeted the receptionist. Mrs. Harvelle looked up from her computer with a raised eyebrow and Dean gulped.

“Hey there, I’m Dean Winchester. Today’s my first day. I uh, just transferred here and I’m real sorry for being late ma’am.” He tried to work up to a charming smile as he laid it on even thicker. “I had to drop my little brother Sammy over at the middle school first, and wouldn’t you know it, poor guy didn’t want to go in he was so nervous.”

Almost certain he’d gotten away with it, he let his smile widen. The _‘Aw shucks, I’m just a caring and responsible big brother’_ routine tended to go over well with the older ladies. Mrs. Harvelle’s only reaction however was another raised eyebrow.

“Boy, I hope you don’t think you can charm your way into my good graces. I ain’t got any, and it ain’t me you gotta impress today. Principal McLeod is wantin’ to see you before you report to any classes and he don’t take very well to anybody keeping him waiting.” Her stern look tore holes in his confident sails and he deflated. “Now you go on and get it over with. Come and see me when you’re through and I’ll make sure you get your schedule and things.”

For a moment Dean just stood there, looking between her and the door she was pointing at over her shoulder. Her eyebrows rose as he stood unmoving and then she smiled kindly at him as he forced himself to step forward past her desk. Before he could get far she laid a hand on his arm, probably picking up on the nervous tension radiating from him. She gave him a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t you let him intimidate you hon. He means well enough, usually.”

With that somewhat cryptic reassurance she gave him a nudge towards the door before turning back to pick up the phone. “Dean Winchester is here to see you, sir.”

As he blew out a fortifying breath, the door opened upon a thickset older man dressed in a sharp monochromatic black suit. He took Dean in from head to toe and appeared unimpressed with what he’d seen.

“It’s about time Mr. Winchester. Follow me.” Without another word he turned and walked down a short hallway. Dean had never met another principal like this man, and over the years he had met his fair share. This one looked more like a Mafioso than an educator; someone who issued orders and expected them to be followed or else.

Dean shrugged to himself after a moment and followed the man into a richly decorated corner office that was all dark wood and expensive looking carpets. McLeod slipped behind an antique desk, settling into an enormous leather chair. Dean sat in one of the plain, purposely uncomfortable wooden chairs facing the desk and resisted the urge to fidget under the man’s imperious gaze. His eyes dropped to the inch thick manila folder sitting dead center on the desk and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

_Son of a bitch_. ~~~~

He looked up to find cynical brown eyes giving him another disinterested once over before the man cut straight to the chase. “Mr. Winchester, let’s not waste time here. Your records are...quite frankly, they just don’t reassure me that you will at all be a good fit in my school.” McLeod lifted the cover of the file, a barely disguised sneer on his face. “Let us review shall we? You have been in and out of various schools during the entirety of your academic career, and have a rather... _colorful_ history of fighting, truancy and delinquent behavior. I’ll be honest with you Mr. Winchester, I do not expect much from you.” The man scoffed.

Dean felt himself bristle. “I can see already that you wish dreadfully to prove me wrong. However,” McLeod spread his hands open before him as if to say ‘ _What’s the point?_ ’ “I don’t imagine it will take long before you begin to fall back onto old habits.” Thin lips lifted in a smirk. “I can smell expulsion on you like cheap cologne and,” he sniffed the air exaggeratedly “just the _faintest_ hint of jail.”

McLeod rose, tucking Dean’s file into a drawer as he turned away. “You are dismissed.” Dean sat for a minute stunned before he got up, gritting his teeth and walked stiffly to the door.

“One last thing, Mr. Winchester. I do not abide lateness. Don’t let it happen again. I will be watching you. Closely.”

His jaw clenched as he resisted slamming the door behind him. He fumed all the way back to the front desk. Mrs. Harvelle took in the look on his face and frowned. “I was afraid that was about how that would go.”

He looked up when she handed him a stack of papers and a folder with the school’s name and mascot on the cover. “I let your first period teacher know you’d probably miss class, so you’ve got some free time to find your locker and get yourself situated. At some point today you’ll need to go to the library to get your books.” She smiled at him, wryly but not unkindly. “You feel free to call me Ellen, and if you ever need anything around here, you come find me. Now get goin’, and don’t go looking for trouble.”

Dean left the office, walking as quickly as he could down the hallway until he found a bench against the wall. He sank down onto it, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to find some solid ground.

God _damn._

He scrubbed a hand over his face as the principal’s words ran on a loop through his brain. Dean may not have been the best student ever, but he was far from the juvenile delinquent McLeod tried to make him out to be.

‘ _Don’t go looking for trouble.’_ He snorted under his breath and wished to hell it was that simple. He was a hunter whether he wanted to be or not, and well, trouble usually found _him_ , not the other way around.

With a sigh he pushed himself to his feet and skimmed the papers still clenched in his hands. He found his locker number easily and headed off down the hallway with a will in search of the damned thing. He had a good twenty minutes before he had to report to his next class, and hoped he wouldn’t get too terribly lost on the way. He thought briefly about stopping by the library to get his book situation sorted out but really, he was planning on doing everything within his power to avoid that place like the plague.

Well, at least until he had no choice. He’d need books obviously if he wanted to get caught up, and besides, now he had a point to prove. The principal had laid down a clear challenge, one he _clearly_ didn’t see Dean rising to. He was going to make every effort to be a better student this time around, even if it killed him.

Sam would be thrilled at least, he thought ruefully.

**

Being a hunter wasn’t something you were born into, no sacred birthright or anything. A person could find hunters just about anywhere if they knew what to look for. No, hunters were created, a byproduct of one shitty twist of fate or another.

Most hunters were in their late twenties or thirties before they were forced to accept what was really out there, but an increasing number of newer hunters were just kids or teenagers like Dean, often orphaned by one tragedy or another.

Dean had pretty much been raised in the hunter’s way; indoctrinated into the hard-tack lifestyle at the tender age of four after a yellow-eyed demon had torn apart his happy white-picket fence family and burnt his carefree childhood to the ground along with the only home he’d ever known.

In the depth of his grief, John vowed that he would hunt down whoever had killed Mary and without a second thought packed up what little had survived the fire and drove his boys down a two-lane highway into a world he knew nothing about. If it hadn't been for Bobby, none of them might have made it.

When it became obvious that Dean wasn't going to just sit idly on the sidelines, he showed him how to use different weapons, began teaching him how to track, and how to hunt. Mostly Dean spent his time watching over Sammy, but John had insisted that the skills he had learned be used to protect his brother, no matter what.

So that was what Dean had done. He protected himself and Sam when their Dad was out hunting. Dean made sure he and Sammy had food to eat, clean clothes to wear, and that they got to school most days.

And then his world was once again turned upside down and torn apart.

Following what John believed to be a solid lead on Yellow Eyes, his dad had shipped them off to South Dakota to stay with Bobby and had taken off for Chicago, charging headfirst into a trap.

They gave John a hunter's funeral, Dean standing numb in front of the pyre, his arm around Sam as he'd cried his heart out.

There was nothing to be done after that. Nothing left to do but try to start over.

In the end, it had been a chance run-in with another teenage hunter and his grizzled Watcher on an ill-advised solo hunt that had put Dean on the Council’s radar and one bracing transatlantic phone call for him to realize exactly why Bobby had always been so insistent that John should never let Dean go off hunting without him.

When Bobby had become a hunter, he said, he’d been too old and too set in his ways to allow ‘some young pup’ whose only experience with the supernatural was from reading about it in books to boss him around.

Dean, it appeared, would not be so lucky.

“So, a Watcher.” Bobby had muttered from beneath the hood of the moldering purple minivan he had been working on. The older man had conducted many such potentially awkward conversations in just such a way, with the ready distraction of an engine block to excuse the lack of eye contact, and Dean had just been happy Bobby wasn’t trying to talk to him about safe sex again.

Dean had scowled, fiddling with a socket wrench. “Yeah. A frigging _librarian_ Watcher.”

Bobby’s laugh had been loud and wheezing. “Aw, _shit_ boy. This should be fun.”

**

Dean’s focus snapped back to the present as the bell sounded and students began swarming the halls like ants in a jostled ant farm. He hugged the wall, out of the tide of bodies, and glanced down again at the papers in his hand. He was no closer to finding his locker _or_ his next class than he had been before. He rifled through the stack and found a map of the building. He held it up in front of his face and frowned. He tilted his head to the side, turned the map a different direction. It hadn’t really helped; the copy of the map was terrible.

He picked a direction at random and started walking down the hallway only to turn around and walk back the other way. He ended up wandering up and down a few halls, and somehow always managed to wind up back in the one he’d started in.

As he passed the office for the third time a girl came barreling out of the door and practically straight into him. She stared up at him and he noted her vintage band tee underneath a faded denim jacket and her loose blonde hair hanging in gentle waves over her shoulders. After a moment he realized she was still practically plastered to his chest and he grinned, winking at her before taking a step back.

“Can I have you?” She blurted.

Dean barked out a laugh and cocked an eyebrow.

“Help you! I meant can I _help_ you?” she squeaked. “I mean you look lost, are you lost? Mom said you might be lost.”

Dean just stared then. “Mom?”

“Oh!” She held out a hand “Joanna Beth Harvelle. Jo. At your service Dean Winchester.”

He took her hand and shook it with a laugh. “Nice to meet you Jo.” He motioned at the map. “And yeah, I’m pretty lost I think. I don’t exactly know where I’m going here.” ~~~~

Jo glanced down at the papers in his hands. “Not to worry, here to help. Where ya headed handsome?”

He pulled out the sheet of paper with his class schedule and turned it around to show it to her, wincing slightly when she slapped at his shoulder enthusiastically.

“You’ve got Comp Science next! Me too!” She grabbed his arm and tugged him in what he hoped was the direction of the classroom he needed. “Oh! And you’ll get to meet Charlie! That’s my best friend. She’s-”

Dean listened with half an ear as they walked and she continued to talk. He managed to dodge the endless personal questions she lobbed at him, but somehow he just knew her curiosity wouldn’t be denied for long. He hoped she’d be satisfied with whatever bland, boring backstory he could cook up, but something about her earnest persistence made him doubt that thought entirely.

Charlie turned out to be a quirky redhead in bright green corduroy pants. Dean noticed a Gryffindor crest pinned to her lapel and saluted her casual application of geekdom. Her eyes had gone ever-so-slightly moony behind black framed glasses when Jo flopped down in her lap natural as you please.

Once introductions were made, she had seemed just as curious about him as Jo, but to his relief her focus strayed more and more frequently to the blonde still settled on her lap until the teacher called the class to order and frowned in the pair’s direction. Jo slid into her own seat with an eye roll and a smattering of titters from nearby desks.

He could do this, he thought. He’d made it to his first class in a new school and even maybe possibly had made a friend or two. It could only get better from there, right?

**

A little after noon found Dean, Charlie and Jo sitting outside at a table eating lunch.

After a comfortable lull in conversation while they finished he looked between the two of them and covered a flutter of nervousness with a smile. “Hey, so, I –uh, wanted to thank the both of you for showing me around today, keeping me company I guess.” He flushed a little and rubbed at the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Charlie returned the smile easily. “Well, you know, we wanted to welcome you, make you feel at home.” She frowned to herself a little. “Unless you have a scary home...”

Dean laughed awkwardly, but was saved from responding when Jo jumped in. “So Dean, what do you do for fun? What do you like? What do you look for in a girl? Let’s hear it.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Geez, everyone wants to know about me. Awesome.”

“Not much goes on in a one Starbucks town like Sioux Falls, dude. You’re pretty big news.” Charlie quipped.

He was eager to get this conversation back onto something other than _him_. “Really I’m not. Seriously”

Before anyone could get another word in however, a shadow fell over their table causing them all to look up at the newcomer.

Jo narrowed her eyes to slits and Charlie made her hands into claws and hissed up at the dark haired girl glowering haughtily down at them. She dismissed them with barely a second glace before focusing her attention on Dean.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your downward mobility, but if you want to stand a chance at being even the slightest bit less of a social leper, ditch these losers and find me and mine at Purgatory tonight.”

With a final sneer for his table mates, the girl turned in a whirl of hair and burgundy leather, sauntering back to her friends across the quad in high heeled boots.

“Who the hell was that?” Dean said, bewildered.

Jo scowled. “ _That_ was a demon. Goes by the name of Meg.” She said it so straight faced, that Dean almost considered she meant an _actual_ demon, but when Charlie started giggling, a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth and she rolled her eyes.

“So is either of you going to tell me what Purgatory is?”

Charlie waffled a hand in the air dismissively as she tapped away at her phone. “It’s a club. It’s on the bad side of town, but really, we don’t have much town here. Purgatory is pretty much the only thing going for us around here by way of fun.”

Jo looked at Dean closely. “Thinking about going Dean?”

He shrugged. “I might.” It seemed like it could be cool to get familiar with the nightlife in town, but he already knew the last thing he wanted to do was run into Meg and anyone she might consider a friend.

Jo huffed, but didn’t say anything else.

He glanced at his watch and saw that he could run to the library and get his books before his next class without leaving much time for small talk. He gathered up his trash and shouldered into his backpack before saying his goodbyes. He was beginning to suspect he’d just successfully made some friends, and surprised at how pleased that made him feel.

Dean came to a stop in front of the doors to the library and took a deep breath. He’d have to get it over with eventually, but given a choice he’d rather continue on without ever acknowledging the Watcher he knew was probably waiting for him with increasing impatience.

He gave himself another minute to accept that resistance was futile before shoving his way into the library with more cool confidence than he actually felt.

**

Dean ran his hand along the long, shiny reference desk as he wandered inside. His fingers touched a little brass bell sitting next to the computer and he was about to ring it when a folded newspaper caught his attention. Giving it a cursory glance, his interest was piqued when he saw an article circled in bright red marker. The headline mentioned a rash of disappearances among the local populace, with nothing to tie them together. He shrugged and made a mental note to look into the disappearances later, maybe mention it to Bobby, before pushing the thought aside and ringing the bell noisily.

“ _With you in a moment_.” a disembodied voice called out from the office.

He tapped again, harder this time. “Hello?”

A man wandered distractedly out from the small office behind the counter, jotting notes in a small red book as he walked. He appeared to be around six foot and slightly, but attractively built with dark, neatly parted hair, and Dean allowed himself a minute to appreciate the whole package. The man was dressed in all greys and blues, a tweed waistcoat completing the erudite look and Dean swallowed a gulp.

He jumped when he heard a throat clearing, and blushed when he realized he’d been caught staring, but eye contact only seemed to make it impossible not to. The man narrowed clear, deep blue eyes enhanced by frameless glasses as he reached up and plucked a fountain pen from between his lips.

“Huh?” Dean asked dumbly.

“May I help you, I said. You were rather persistent with the bell.” The man’s voice was deep, a little rough and gravelly around the edges. Dean realized belatedly that he had an English accent, too. Could this be the Watcher?

Well shit. He was totally on board with the Watcher’s Council if they all looked like this guy.

The man raised a brow and laid down his notebook. He still hadn’t responded, and seriously, he needed to get his head in the game here. This was so not the time or place to go daydreaming over a guy that might end up dictating his every move from here on out.

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” Dean finally managed to get out. “I need some, uh...”

“Books?” the man supplied.

Dean rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor as he snorted wryly. “Yeah, textbooks, specifically. I’m new and I hear you might need those if you want to pass classes and stuff. I’m Dean by the way. Dean Winchester.” He offered a crooked grin and extended a hand toward the librarian.

***

Castiel was in general a patient man, and typically far less non-verbal, but the boy before him was at once both stunning and infuriating. He’d kept Castiel waiting all morning for him to make his presence known, and now that he finally had? Castiel was at a loss; torn between professional indignation and an overwhelmingly personal dilemma.

The boy’s grin faltered and his hand dropped to his side as he waited for Castiel to respond. “So, uh...can you hook me up with those books?”

Castiel plucked the glasses from his face and removed a silky blue handkerchief from his pocket, rubbing at already spotless lenses while he tried to win back his composure.

In that first brief once over, he’d taken note of finely muscled forearms exposed by rolled up sleeves, slim hips and a starkly sensual face, all pouty lips and tousled hair and he’d had to squash down the flash of interest in his gut. He cleared his throat again.

“I _am_ the librarian of this school, so I believe I will be able to ‘hook you up’ as you so eloquently phrased it, with the schoolbooks that you require. “

Dean rolled his eyes, and Castiel felt at last the shields of propriety slide firmly back into place.

“So, I guess you’re my Watcher.” The boy muttered unenthusiastically.

Castiel nodded. “If you are Dean Winchester, then yes, that would be correct. Pardon my atrocious manners; my name is Castiel Novak. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He held out a hand to Dean and waited. Vibrant green eyes locked onto his and he saw a flicker of challenge in them before the boy reached toward him and slipped a wide, square palm against his own.

He swallowed at the feel of the boy’s firm grip. “I would prefer that you address me by my surname, but Castiel will suffice as well.”

A slow mischievous grin spread over Dean’s face, and Castiel knew that he was doomed.

“Hmm. Guess we’re stuck with each other now, huh? _Cas_.”

Castiel, refusing to rise to the bait, forged ahead. “What do you know about this town, Dean?”

The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at Castiel. “I dunno Cas. It’s about a million miles from anywhere remotely fun?”

He ignored Dean’s petulant tone. “Well, I’ve done a fair bit of research in preparation of becoming your Watcher, and if you were to dig a bit into the history of this place, you’d find a steady stream of fairly odd occurrences.” ~~~~

“Like demons?”

“Exactly! But not just demons, Dean.” He shook his head animatedly. “Vampires, zombies, werewolves; any number of fascinating spirits and creatures! They’re all real, and they’ve all been here at one point or another.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, _fascinating_.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, I know, since you’re so fascinated by them, why don’t _you_ hunt ‘em and I’ll take myself a nice vacation.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at the tone. “Dean, while I assure you I am more than capable, I am a Watcher. A _hunter_ hunts. A Watcher-“

“Watches?” The boy deadpanned.

“Yes.” Castiel frowned and held up a finger with a huff. “No! A Watcher _trains_ the hunter, _prepares_ them-“

Dean snorted. “Prepare me for what? For watching the people I care about die bloody? For having to spend my whole life fighting to save people and never getting to tell anyone because I might put them in danger? Go ahead.” He crossed his arms and glared. “Prepare me.”

Dean waited only a moment while Castiel stammered before he turned and stomped for the exit. Castiel hesitated briefly before going after him, reaching out to grasp onto Dean’s shoulder. The boy turned blazing eyes on him and Castiel resisted the urge to take a step back. He was getting too close already, knew he was pushing the boundary of professional distance, but he had to make the boy understand.

“Dean, you must listen to me. Something _is_ coming, and you must be prepared. The signs, as far as we can tell, point to a crucial mystical upheaval. Sometime quite soon, I believe.”

Dean closed his eyes in an obvious effort to calm himself down and gritted his teeth. When he opened them again, the cocky smile was firmly back in place but with a brittle edge. “Oh c’mon, Cas! This is Sioux Falls. How bad can it be?”

***

At two fifty-five Dean was sitting on the front steps of the school, enjoying a perfectly inappropriate and utterly improbable daydream involving Windsor knots, a disheveled Watcher, and a secluded corner of the stacks.

He was broken out of his daze when someone dropped a backpack at his feet. He whipped his head up and found himself staring up at Jo and Charlie, who were looking down at him with twin curious looks.

Jo waggled her eyebrows. “Now what _were_ you just thinking about Winchester? It sure looked good from here.”

Dean blushed uncontrollably, shoving the images away again. He ventured, “Uhh...nothing?”

Jo rolled her eyes at him and dropped down onto the step below him, pulling a can of Coke and an apple out of her bag and thankfully let it go.

Charlie sat down on the step next to Dean, her arms wrapping around her raised knees. She rooted around in her own bag and unearthed a candy bar. He watched as she and Jo traded snacks without words. Their friendship seemed so seamless and utterly familiar.

The minutes passed companionably as they chatted about how the rest of each of their days had gone. Dean told the girls about his French class that he really didn't like and Jo suggested that he check out the school's Auto Shop class that she was in, see if he could switch anything. Charlie complained about the gym class both she and Jo had and how much she hated it as the three of them passed around Jo's soda.

Charlie nudged Dean's side with an elbow while Jo was busy playing a game on her phone. “So how'd it go getting your books earlier? Did you find your way ok?”

The question had been completely innocent, but Dean's brain instantly flashed back to his daydream and he felt a flush creep up his neck. “Oh, yep. All good. I got to meet the librarian. He’s kind of-“

“Totally lickable?” Jo blurted out without looking up from her phone.

Dean's cheeks heated further at the thought but he laughed and brushed off the comment. “Perv.” She stuck her tongue out at him and winked. “No, man. He’s kinda weird. Super uptight.”

Charlie mused, “I dunno, I kind of like him. He seems all stuffy and repressed, but I think he's got hidden depths under all that tweed. The guy's a little technophobic though; when I helped him set up some new software for the library a few weeks ago, I'm pretty sure he referred to the computer as ‘that dread machine,’” Charlie laughed.

Dean looked down to check his watch when Jo piped up. “Oh hey Dean? Charlie and I were gonna head down to the Roadhouse and hang out for a bit. It's a bit of a cafe slash restaurant that most of us hang out at after school. Wanna come with?

He thought he would definitely like to go, but it was already pushing 3:30, and he should probably go at least make an appearance in the library. Mr. ‘Hidden Depths’ had instructed him in no uncertain terms to return to the library after his classes to begin his training. He wondered if the prim Watcher was throwing a fit yet. Dean grinned at the thought of making the carefully put-together guy squirm.

“Gonna have to take a rain check on that, Jo. Sorry. I gotta pick up my brother in a bit and I figured I could get caught up on stuff in the meantime. You two go ahead without me.” ~~~~

He left the two of them there on the steps, heads bent close together and talking quietly. He could almost guarantee he knew what the topic of _that_ conversation was.

***

Castiel snapped his watch closed and tucked it back into his pocket. He wondered if he had actually expected the boy to arrive on time after his show of insolence earlier in the afternoon. Regardless, he was irritated. Castiel had spent the hours following Dean's appearance mindlessly re-shelving books distracted with thoughts of the young hunter. He would likely have to go back and double check that he had put the volumes back in the proper places, and the thought made him grit his teeth in frustration. ~~~~

His control was better than this, damn it.

But the thoughts and images still crept in unbidden. The undisciplined hunter was late and Castiel's fingers tingled as his mind flashed on an image of his hand in the boy's hair, gripping tightly against his scalp as he pushed him to his knees. To punish him, obviously. No other motivation whatsoever.

Castiel shook himself and moved to gather the items that Dean would need for his study session, should he decide to grace the library with his presence. Dean was clearly pushing him; testing the new source of authority in his life, poking and prodding to find weaknesses.

Naomi had warned Castiel that Dean would be intent on doing whatever he could to bend Castiel to his willfulness; break him if he could, try to send him running back for London's foggy streets.

Castiel may have been suffering from an inordinate amount of ill-advised lust for the green eyed hunter, but what Dean did not know yet is that he was not the type to break easily, not any longer.

***

Dean poked his head into the library, fully prepared to face off in a battle of wills with a prissy, stiff-upper-lipped Watcher, but all he saw was a seemingly empty library. Had the man had enough of waiting and left?

He brushed off a niggle of self-doubt with a shrug as he kept walking toward the big central table where he spied a small stack of books, a handsome black leather-bound journal, and an assortment of pens, pencils and highlighters laid out neatly on one side. A folded sheet of crisp white stationary was propped on the top of the books.

_“Dean, as it appears that you wish to waste my time this afternoon, no doubt in an effort to prove to me that you will not be ordered about, I shall be in my office. Please report to me when you have arrived. C. Novak”_

He felt a rush of shame then and wondered why he’d felt the need to push so badly. Hoping he hadn’t screwed this thing up already, he put his things down on the table and made his way over to the closed door of the office, knocking softly after a moment’s hesitation.

The Watcher called out a quiet “Come in please, Dean.”

Dean stood there in the doorway watching graceful fingers writing fluidly in the red journal again. Cas was still facing away from the door and hadn't acknowledged him beyond his command for Dean to enter the office. He glanced around the small, cozy room. The walls were butter yellow, hung here and there with what looked to Dean like wistful, English landscapes. He noticed a tribal mask angry-grinning down at him from the wall. The Watcher seemed to have his own private library in his office as well, books meticulously arranged on dark-wooded bookshelves. A still-steaming cup of tea sat near the edge of the desk.

He shifted from one foot to the other, the silence uncomfortable. “I'm uh...sorry I'm late. Got caught up with-”

He was cut off by the Watcher's cool reply. “I'm not sure that I’m interested in hearing your excuses for why you were late Dean. The only thing you’ve accomplished with this attempt to exert control is that you have wasted both of our times. I would have very much liked to sit down with you and discuss what I would like to accomplish here; get to know each other politely and hopefully develop a comfortable rapport. As such, you were late, and I'm afraid your studies cannot wait for niceties.”

Dean had been ready to be shouted at, to hear threats of leaving if Dean didn't behave. Not this cold disapproval. Dean could fight a lot of things, but you couldn't fight someone without their participation. He was left feeling off balance, unsure of where he stood with the man.

“As I am sure you've noticed I’ve laid out several volumes for you. You will begin your studies with some functional Latin, specifically as it pertains to exorcising demons. There are also a few texts that explore demon castes, characteristics and weaknesses. Please work until 4:15 and then you may be dismissed.”

Blue eyes bored into his then as Castiel swiveled around to face him.

“And Dean, I suggest that you not be late again. My patience is not endless, and you will find that I rarely waver. I would prefer that we work together and not against one another. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, lowering his eyes to the scuffed toes of his boots. He felt a little stupid now. He'd underestimated the Watcher. He could almost hear the unspoken challenge in the man’s reasonable tone.

Castiel turned back to his desk without another word and Dean slunk his way back to the table and opened _A Treatise on Demons and Demonology_.

**

He read and scrawled notes until well past the time he had been told he could leave. Maybe he had been trying to make up for wasting the Watcher’s time at first, but the stuff Cas had given him to study was actually pretty cool.

The Watcher hadn’t come out of the office once to check on his progress, and neither had he come out to dismiss him. Dean had packed up his things, quietly contemplating the day when his fingers lingered on the smooth leather surface of the journal. Had Cas bought it for him? Was it a Hunter’s journal like his dad’s? He had seen Cas carrying around a similar red journal earlier and wondered if Watchers kept journals too. He hoped Cas wasn’t already filling it up with the details of how much of a disappointment Dean had proved to be so far.

**

Later that evening, after giving Sammy a full report of his first encounter with his Watcher, Dean waited in a short line in front of Purgatory before paying the cover and slipping inside. It was still pretty early in the evening and the band hadn’t really gotten started yet. He made a visual sweep of the open area of the club as he made his way deeper into the crowd.

On a balcony above the dance floor, hidden in the shadows, Dean just managed to make out the glint of lights off of the Watcher’s glasses, his pale face a sharp contrast to the darkness of his hair and the corner he was lurking in. Dean crooked a tentative grin; perhaps he’d get the chance to apologize to Cas for being such an asshole today, maybe mend the fences a little.

His eyes were still on the man as he walked, aiming for the stairs leading up to the mezzanine when a hand gripped his bicep and spun him around. He had immediately gone for the knife at his back, but slid his hand away when his eyes landed on the dark haired girl from lunch attached to his arm with sharp, red-tipped fingernails. Meg had a predatory smirk on her pouty red lips as she leaned the full length of her body against his, her breasts pressing into his arm.

“I knew you’d come.” She breathed into his ear. “Good.”

He tried to pull himself away from her as subtly as possible, when her other hand slid up his chest to fist in his t-shirt. “Let’s go introduce you to the only people in this town really worth being seen with.” She tossed him a flirty wink. “Besides me, of course.”

She dragged him bodily by the front of his shirt over to a table, a mixed group of bored looking people seated around it. He half-pretended to pay attention as introductions were made, starting with an olive-skinned girl named Andrea with dark hair in a braid. She had a vaguely dreamy look on her face as she took him in and dismissed him in a second. Bela, who sat next to her, practically screamed wealth and privilege with her understated but no doubt expensive black dress and tennis bracelet on one slim wrist. She looked him up and down, a single eyebrow raised as she did so. He felt vaguely objectified by the girl’s frank perusal. Meg was nattering away in his ear explaining about who was who, but he was already scoping out escape routes.

He was just about to make a break for it when the last person at the table held up a dainty hand and introduced herself before Meg could do it. “Hello.” Her voice was musical and almost childlike. “I’m Lilith.” The blonde gave him a smile full of perfect, small white teeth. “Meg never did say who you were, though.”

Dean shook the girl’s hand a little awkwardly, instinctively on edge around Lilith. She had the kind of sultry, full-lipped good looks that he could intellectually acknowledge as attractive, but the way she was dressed didn’t seem to mesh with the rest of her. In a white sundress with a loose pink cardigan over top, she hardly fit in with the group as a whole.

He started a little at her expectant look and remembered that she’d asked him who he was. “I’m uh, Dean. Dean Winchester. I just moved here from Kansas a couple months ago.”

The girl smiled and inclined her head. “Well Dean, I truly hope that you will find a home here. My father is the mayor of Sioux Falls, and our family is always eager to welcome newcomers to our little town.”

Dean nodded back a little. He could see now why this girl was in the group. He vaguely remembered Meg’s introductions had included pointed bits of information about their families, who were probably all local big to do’s, too. It also seemed that while Meg appeared to be the de facto leader, this girl was the real ringleader of them all.

Introductions apparently over, Dean was desperate to make a break for it. He cast an eye to the balcony and saw Cas still in shadow. He felt a little jolt as they made eye contact, shivering slightly with the intensity of it.

He took a last look at the occupants of the table and decided he was getting out of there. He sketched a wave and started backing away. “Well thanks. This was great and all...good to meet you. See you around I guess!” As soon as the last words left his mouth, he booked it for freedom.

****

In an office across town, Nick D'iavolo picked up the ringing telephone sitting on his massive mahogany desk.

“Mayor D'iavolo.” He drawled icily.

“Father, I believe a new hunter has come to town. Not the old man but a boy, seventeen, perhaps eighteen. He has just transferred to Sioux Falls from Kansas. His name is Dean Winchester.”

“Winchester, really? Interesting. Send someone to give him a little...test. Let us see what he is made of.” He hung up without saying anything further. He sat at his desk, a small wicked smile curling his thin lips.

****

Castiel was certain that there were levels of actual Hell that were less torturous than this aptly named club. Purgatory was loud and growing steadily louder; his head pounded in time to the beat of the incomprehensible din.

Standing far away from the pressing crush of bodies, he was scanning the club, trying with everything he had to avoid staring down to where his hunter was interacting with a group of teenagers instead of focusing on his reason for being here at all.

But of course Dean would be here. The boy would run headlong into any danger without knowing what was waiting for him.

After Dean had left the library following their first nearly disastrous session, he’d taken a moment to ground himself before calling Naomi to report on the events of the day. He had almost entirely left out how challenging the hunter had been; not wanting Naomi to reconsider his placement. It also went without saying that he’d left out how senselessly attracted he’d found himself to be.

Before signing off on the call, Naomi had imparted some information that had his ever active curiosity piqued. Apparently the research he had done was not completely unfounded; the small rural town of Sioux Falls had been attracting more and more demon attention of late, and certain groups of these demons were using Purgatory for meeting and hunting grounds. She had instructed Castiel to canvass the club and report any and all demon activity he observed.

“So Cas, you like to party with the students. Isn’t that kinda skeevy?” From somewhere to his left, an amused voice made Castiel jump.

He turned his head to acknowledge Dean with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, right, this is me having fun. Watching these... _children_ prance about is hardly my idea of a party. I would much rather be at home with a cup of tea and a good book.” He replied drily.

Dean snorted. “Dude. You need a personality, stat.”

Castiel pointed to the seething crowd below. “This place is a perfect breeding ground for supernatural activity. It’s dark, crowded.” He glanced at Dean. “I am here on an assignment, Dean, not in search of entertainment.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and strode forward to the balcony railing, letting his eyes do the work his mind was once again no longer on.

He felt Dean’s body heat against his side as the hunter sidled up next to him with a sigh. “Do you ever stop working man?”

“Dean, I know you understand this. The lives of hunters and Watchers leave little room for socializing or the carefree pursuit of pleasure. Maintaining any _normal_ sort of life becomes problematic at best. We must all be always on our guard.” He said tiredly, turning more fully to face Dean.

Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice against Dean’s ear as he directed the hunter to look out at the crowd again. “Look at them, throwing themselves at one another, completely unaware of the danger that surrounds them.” Castiel felt him shudder and he breathed in the scent of leather and teenage boy before forcing himself back to a much more proper distance.

Dean’s voice was rough when he spoke wistfully. “Lucky them.”

***

Dean found Charlie at the bar, seated on a cushy stool playing with the straw piercing the cherry in her Shirley Temple with a contemplative look on her face. He tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention and she jumped nearly a foot off of her seat with a yelp. He laughed at her reaction and helped her settle back onto her chair before taking the one next to her.

“Hey Dean! Sorry, I didn’t see you.” She laughed a little awkwardly before biting her lip and looking at him searchingly. “Actually, that’s a bit of a lie. I _did_ see you, with Mr. Novak. Are you- are you like, here with him?” She flushed with embarrassment at her own question.

Dean gaped at her. “ _With_ him?” He asked, glancing up to the balcony where he had been standing with the Watcher only moments ago. He found the man exactly where he’d left him, watching Dean closely. Dean felt heat in the pit of his stomach as he considered what he expected Charlie had been implying. “What? No! Why would you-“ He stammered.

Charlie snorted. “Gaydar, dude. And like, the body language alone said plenty. You’re so into him, Winchester, admit it.” She bit into one of her cherries with a smirk.

Dean felt faint. How could he have been so obvious? For God’s sake this was South Dakota; if people found out he’d be even more of an outcast than he already was.

Charlie’s smirk wilted around the edges as she noticed his reaction. “Dean? Are you not... _out_?” She whispered sympathetically.

He blanched. “I’m not _anything_ , Charlie. Whatever you think I am-“ He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just... please let it go. Fucking...let it go.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. “Dammit, Charlie. I need to get the hell out of here.” He got up and bee-lined for the door, leaving the redhead at the bar.

***

Castiel had one eye on his hunter when he noticed a man he believed to be a demon leading a young woman to a darkened doorway in the back of the club. Gathering himself to follow them discreetly, movement in his peripheral distracted him as Dean half ran out of the entrance looking angry and upset.

Concern for his hunter and his responsibility to protect humanity from demons warred within him for a moment before he made up his mind to follow the demon and his victim. Surely Dean could handle himself, despite whatever teenage melodrama was afoot.

Finding the dark back room empty, he pushed through a half-hidden exit in the corner to the alley outside of the building. The garbage-strewn stretch of concrete was quiet. Too quiet.

Castiel crept down to the mouth of the next alley, cautiously peering around the corner. He caught his breath before he could shout at the scene laid before him.

The demon he had seen in the club was there with the young woman, now also clearly possessed as well. The two had Dean pinned against the wall between them, taking turns smashing fists into his face and stomach. Castiel wanted to rush forward on instinct, to protect his hunter; instead he forced himself to center and prepare for the battle ahead.

**

Dean was livid. Not only had someone he had thought to be a friend (or at least a potential friend)  
had nearly outed him in public, but now there were two fucking demons holding him down.

He had lost his knife in the first rush of bodies, had sliced the male demon up the side of his face, but it hadn't stopped the onslaught of fists from coming. Mind still more than half on the confrontation he’d just had with Charlie, he may have let the demons get more than a few hits in that he could have stopped, but part of him just didn’t care. The pain made him clearer, sharper, let him forget a little.

He knew he didn’t stand a chance with these two in a fair fight, at least not for very long, and before he gave in and allowed them to beat him into a bloody pulp he desperately tried to recall the incantation he’d studied only hours earlier. He opened split lips and began chanting the Latin as best he could.

“Exorcizamus te...uh, _shit_ , omnis imm-immundus s-spiritus,” The demons howled and pounded into  
him even harder; Dean sucked in a sharp breath as at least one of his ribs gave way with a sickening crunch. “Omnis s-satanica potestas, o-omnis incursio infernalis ad-adversarii,”

The demons flew back away from him with twin hisses and he tried with all his might to remember the rest. When he stuttered to a stop, out of breath and gasping with the pain, they turned toward him again with smug faces that he dearly wanted to destroy.

Then, out of the darkness at the mouth of the alley, a deep, familiar voice continued the invocation smoothly and assuredly.

“Omnis congregatio, et secta diabolica.” Dean nearly whimpered in relief as Cas stepped into the light. “Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire.” Cas’ mouth turned up in a fierce smirk as he opened his mouth one last time to deliver the coup-de-grace. “Te rogamus...”

At the last second Dean remembered the final words and he shouted triumphantly, “Adios, bitches!”

His Watcher spared him an exasperated but amused look. “Actually Mr. Winchester, the correct pronunciation is,” he turned back to the demons who were booking it to the only open exit. “Audi _nos_!”

With a roar and belching oily black smoke, the demons dispossessed the bodies they had taken, leaving them in slumping heaps against the concrete.

Dean pushed himself off the wall with an exhausted grin, intent on a well-earned high five, the Watcher’s stodginess be damned. He made it approximately two and a half shuffling steps before the ground decided to smack him in the face.

****

Unseen in the midst of the mind-bending chaos that had unfolded before her eyes, Charlie Bradbury watched, feeling helpless as Dean Winchester got into a fistfight with two completely normal looking people with completely _not_ normal black eyes, and the school librarian of all people, chanted some Latin-y hocus pocus at them and made them barf up black smoke.

Half a dozen blocks later she was out of breath, more than a little scared and seriously confused as _heck._

****

Castiel was most assuredly, not panicking. Truly, he wasn’t. But he had turned to offer a cordial smile and praise to his hunter for the successful exorcism of the two demons, only to watch Dean stumble from the wall and crumple to the pavement with a sickening thump. Castiel rushed in, carefully rolling the boy to his back to survey the badly split lip and multiple obvious contusions bleeding into bruises all over the stupidly beautiful, foolish face.

Hefting the boy into his arms, he tucked him against his chest and hurried to the street where his battered grey Citroen was parked at the curb. After taking a moment to lay Dean out gently in the back seat, he ran around the vehicle to throw himself behind the wheel, forcing the car into a sputtering, coughing start. He drove much too fast, mind only on Dean and getting him to safety as quickly as possible.

As he drove he recalled the pride he’d felt watching from the shadows as his hunter called out the invocation for the exorcism. Perhaps not quite correctly, but the book that Dean had clearly been reading earlier in the afternoon had been chosen and left with absolute care. He’d wanted to consider it a bit of a peace offering, a hopeful exchange of knowledge so that the pinch of Castiel’s orders might not sting too badly at Dean’s obvious pride.

Squealing to a stop with a grinding of brakes in front of his own small house near the edge of town, Castiel carefully pulled Dean from the car and up the front walk, juggling the unconscious hunter and searching his pockets for his keys.

Once inside, he laid Dean along the tufted cushions of his worn brown Chesterfield, slipping a throw pillow beneath his head before hurrying to the kitchen for his emergency medical kit.

Castiel kicked an ottoman over to the side of the couch and sat, assessing the damage under the better lighting of his living room. He tended to the wounds he could, but he knew he did not have the necessary materials for suturing the deeper lacerations. He laughed ruefully. This was only day one after all; perhaps with having Dean for a hunter, he should consider stocking up on his medical supplies.

With his face as clean and bandaged as well as possible, Castiel moved his hands hesitantly down to Dean’s throat, then his chest. Slipping his fingers under ripped flannel and soft cotton, he pushed the fabric upwards to see beneath. He bit his lip to stifle a gasp at the deep purple bruises on the boy’s sides and chest. Touching the wounded flesh as gently as he could, he monitored Dean’s battered face for signs of pain.

He jumped, hands tangling in Dean’s shirts when the hunter flinched hard, his voice a hoarse rasp in the close quiet of the room. “Cas? I need Bobby. Get Bobby.” The boy shuddered in obvious pain before slumping to the cushions once again.

Castiel knew from the file he’d been given upon his assignment to Dean’s training that the boy lived with a family friend that he called ‘Uncle’, named Robert. Assuming that the two were one in the same, he clinically searched Dean’s pockets until he found the cell phone. Pulling it free, he scrolled through the contacts, the plastic casing warm from Dean’s body tingling against his fingertips until he found a “Bobby.”

Stepping into the kitchen he made the call, unable to turn his eyes away from Dean lying helpless and broken mere feet away as the phone began ringing away.

***

Dean woke with gasp, muscle and bone screaming in a thousand places, the pressure of unforgiving bandages binding his torso discouraging the instinctive need he had to sit up. The room was dark and at first he couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten there. The familiar give of his mattress and the faint glow of the fluorescent light in the junkyard lot through his thin curtains let him know that he was in his own bedroom.

Which was...confusing, to say the least.

The last thing he remembered was his Watcher’s wide, blue eyes, the alarm in them as he passed out in that alley outside of Purgatory.

He blinked in the darkness and tried to figure out how he’d gotten home.

He threw a hand over his face with a hiss as his bedroom door flew open to reveal Bobby and he glimpsed Sam’s worried face over the man’s shoulder.

“Sammy?” Dean’s throat felt like he’d gargled rocks.

His brother’s face crumpled in relief and approximately 8 feet of gangly preteen boy threw itself past Bobby and right up into Dean’s space before he could take another breath.

“Dean! Oh jeez.” Sam took a shaky breath before looking at Dean again. “You look like crap.” He bit his wobbly lip and attempted to keep up the look of disapproval on his face.

Dean would have laughed if everything didn’t hurt like hell.

Bobby shoved Sam gently away from Dean’s bedside with a huff. “Get out of the way squirt.” Bobby took his cap off and rubbed his head briefly before settling the worn thing back into place as the older man settled onto the edge of the mattress. He cleared his throat. “Good news, boy, is that you only got one broken rib.”

Dean swallowed against his dry throat. He’d had broken ribs before, and they fucking sucked. He bit his cheek and nodded.

“Bobby,” he croaked “How did I get here? What happened after...?”

Bobby shuffled the cap on his head again; the only outward tell that that man had been worried about him. “That Watcher of yours, Novak, he called me once he’d gotten you to his place safe and patched you up a bit. You was passed out cold when I got there and busted all to hell. He said you got beat pretty good in a fight, but you also held your own, too. Took some hard shots to the head and gut, far as I can tell, along with the rib break. You’ll heal up just fine though, long as you take it a bit easy next few days.” The look Bobby aimed his way was pointed; he knew how well Dean was likely to follow instructions.

Though honestly, that was fine with Dean for the moment. He felt like he’d been hit with a car.

Speaking of... “Where’s the Impala? Nobody better have been driving my baby without me.”

Bobby snorted as he shook out a few pills into his hand and set the bottle on the nightstand. “Boy, that car’s wherever you parked it last night. I’ll drive you down there tomorrow morning before school so you can pick it up. For now, just get you some sleep and we’ll deal with the rest in the morning.”

Taking the aspirin Bobby handed him with a gulp of water, Dean settled carefully back against the pillows again and tried to drift off.

As much as he’d wanted to resist the whole business of having a Watcher, he was damn grateful that Castiel had been where he’d been tonight. The man had probably saved his dumbass life, and he wondered how the hell he was going to repay that.

***

Castiel woke at dawn after a restless night of tossing about in his bed, worry for his hunter at the forefront of his mind, refusing to allow him to sleep fully. Bright sunlight began streaming through his curtains almost cheerfully and he scowled at the intrusion. Scrubbing his hands against his face he was contemplating a long, poundingly hot shower when the sound of a knock at his front door interrupted his thought process.

He clattered down the stairs and threw open the door without thinking about who might be on the other side.

His breath caught at the sight of Dean on his mat, fist raised to pound against the door again. The boy was still a mess of cuts and bruises, but he was gorgeous nonetheless and Castiel was done for. Dean gaped at him for a long moment that made his stomach plummet in panic, hoping that his morning erection, reinvigorated by Dean’s appearance was not nearly as obvious as it felt.

The handsome blush on his hunter’s cheeks was most assuredly not helping, and Castiel took that moment to step back from the open doorway and close his robe securely around himself, gesturing Dean to come inside.

“Dean, I’m surprised to see you up and about already. You gave me quite a scare last night, but your Bobby assured me you’ll make a speedy recovery.”

Dean bit his lip and raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah man, I’m sorry about that. Totally didn’t mean to pass out on you like a wuss. But I’m all patched up and Bobby said you helped get me out of there and cleaned up until he could get there. Wanted to say thanks.”

Dean’s eyes lifted from the floor, something curious in them Castiel couldn’t interpret, as he held out his hand.

Castiel slid his own hand against Dean’s, feeling the same flash of heat he’d felt the previous day at the contact. He drew a breath. “Dean, of course. No need to thank me, truly, but you are welcome all the same.”

The moment their eyes locked, Castiel could read Dean’s intentions like a book. When Dean’s gaze dropped to his lips, Castiel opened his mouth to tell the boy...anything to stop him, to keep the walls safely between them.

In the space of a heartbeat Dean’s body was against his, their hands still tangled together and pressed awkwardly between their bodies as Dean crushed his mouth to Castiel’s, the kiss shockingly wet and heated. A moment of stunned inaction and then Castiel’s hands were clutching the boy’s face, torn between the desperate desire to let the kiss devour them both and shoving Dean away to salvage any shred of propriety.

When Dean’s hands slid beneath the robe that had come undone and moved even more fully against Castiel’s body, he felt the hard press of an erection against his thigh and he knew he needed to end it before he lost the plot entirely. With a groan he broke free from the kiss, pushing Dean backward by his shoulders until they were separated by sheer willpower alone.

The dazed, heavy lidded stare Dean turned on him nearly destroyed him. The boy had no idea what he was doing to him.

“Cas? What? Did I...” Dean licked his lips and made to move back into Castiel’s space.

It bordered on torture to hold Dean back with his arms locked tight, not to allow their bodies to come together again.

“Dean, we mustn’t. We cannot. _I_ cannot do this. Not with you.” Castiel ground out before turning away, holding himself stiffly to keep himself from reaching out as he wanted to, missing the way his hunter’s face fell ashen and dismayed at his words.

“ _Why_?” Dean’s voice was strangled. “You kissed me back, Cas! You already did whatever you think ‘this’ is. Whether you admit it or not, I know you felt something too.”

Keeping his back turned, Castiel gathered himself, determined to avoid that train of thought. Of course he felt it. But it would be utterly irresponsible to entertain the notion. He couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. Not again.

When he felt he had control enough, he faced Dean. The boy was flushed, clearly angry, and still very much clearly aroused. Castiel swallowed hard.

“Dean, your reaction is understandable given the situation we faced together last night. Passions were high. But it cannot happen again, do you understand? I am your Watcher, I am responsible for you, and it is completely inappropriate.” He nearly choked, fighting to keep his tone even and cool, watching as his words made impact.

Dean’s eyes darkened with anger, jaw tight, hands curling into fists at his sides. “You know what? Fine. Have it your way.” Crossing the floor he threw open the front door, only to slam it shut behind him.

Castiel sat hard at the foot of the stairs, deflating, face pressed into his hands.

He knew he’d done the right thing; there could be nothing between them. He had no right to have kissed Dean the way he had, no matter that Dean had been the one to initiate it. The boy was vulnerable, hurt, and Castiel was supposed to be the adult in all of this. The fact that Dean was his charge and nearly ten years his junior, was cause enough to hate himself for allowing it to happen.

But perhaps he could salvage things.

He would allow Dean time to cool off, to hopefully realize that what had happened was a mistake made in the heat of the moment, never to be made again. And by the afternoon, Dean would appear for their training session, perhaps a little embarrassed, but determined to forge ahead, and they would be Watcher and hunter and everything would be fine.

Castiel snorted at his own foolishness, his eye catching on the crisp black lines of the tattoo on his forearm, the reminder he carried with him every day, the mistakes he had made never to be forgotten.

***

Dean watched the sun inch its way across the cloudless blue of the noonday sky from the hood of the Impala where it was parked down some no-name backcountry road in the middle of nowhere. He’d left Sioux Falls, and Cas in his rearview, needing desperately to be _away_ from it all, just for a little while. He was loathe to skip out on classes merely a day after his discouraging welcome from Principal McLeod, but between Charlie calling him out on what he could now admit was an obvious attraction to Cas broken ribs, and brain-melting kisses and subsequent humiliating rejection by his hot-as-hades Watcher had to earn him some kind of free pass, right?

Somehow he seriously doubted it.

In hindsight he knew it’d been a catastrophically stupid mistake to kiss Cas, but in the heat of the moment he’d been utterly unable to stop himself. The man he’d first encountered in the school library, and later at Purgatory had been so buttoned up and proper, not a stitch or hair out of place, and so perfectly put together that Dean had wanted to muss him up just on principle. But the Cas that had opened the door to him that morning, all sleep wrecked and rumpled in loose black sweats and a t-shirt clinging to firm muscles underneath a threadbare robe, hair an absolute mess and stubble dark on his cheeks, had Dean practically speechless, mouth dry and so desperately turned on he’d acted without thinking.

And God, the way that Cas had looked at him when he’d pushed back from that kiss, eyes nearly black with obvious lust, it had taken everything in Dean’s power not go to his knees right then and there.

With a sigh he slid down carefully from the sun-warmed hood of the Impala and behind the wheel, cranking the engine to life with a roar that always brought up memories of his dad in this very seat. He knew it was time to head back, face the music, endure the inevitable _whatever_ it was that was waiting for him with his Watcher and his friends.

***

Castiel stood in the hallway where Dean’s locker was located long after the final bell and the ensuing tide of teenagers eager to be anywhere but in school had rushed past. Dean’s absence had been conspicuous.

He had tried to avoid seeking Dean out for as long as possible during the interminable hours of the school day, throwing himself into his work and cataloguing, scolding himself soundly every time he found his mind wandering to his hunter and the events of the early morning hours.

Finally, cursing himself for being every kind of fool, he’d found himself in the halls, looking into classrooms at random, finding several curious glances returned his way, but none of them Dean’s.

It wouldn’t have been beyond the realm of the understandable if Dean had simply chosen not to attend classes that day, Castiel reasoned. He was injured after all. Though missing classes on only the second day of the school year was hardly the kind of behavior that would be tolerated by either the school administration or the Council itself. Unnecessary attention would only make an already complicated situation more so, and that they could scarcely afford.

With a final sweep of the hallway, Castiel decided it was time to cut his losses for the day and return to the library if he had any hope of finishing his work before night fell. He could only hope that Dean would come around eventually and that he wasn’t off getting himself into trouble that neither of them could get him out of.

**

After an hour spent making little progress in his research, usually fascinating work, Castiel gave in to the restless itching beneath his skin and closed the volume of demon lore with a snap. Removing a ring of keys from the hook beside the door, he made his way to the locked cage that served as an after-hours book drop-off, supplies storage, and housed a large, battered metal cupboard that stored a large portion of his weapons collection.

His most prized of his collection remained at his home, of course, including several antique pistols of indeterminate historical value, and a ridiculously impractical iron Morningstar flail. However he was content enough to store his more everyday weapons in the library, for personal use and eventually, training with Dean.

With an anticipatory smile beginning to spread across his face, he quickly released the heavy silver padlock that was the only outward clue that there was anything unusual being kept inside and pulled the doors open with both hands.

Taking in the entirety of the contents held within, he swept his eyes from one implement to another, trying to decide which to choose. There were several swords, of iron and bronze and steel hung in neat rows along the back; knives, daggers (including one of Castiel’s personal favorites, a ritual dagger with a unique wave pattern to the blade) and several crossbows rested on padded hooks and shelves. Sturdy quarterstaffs and stakes of a variety of woods that were useful in a variety of scenarios tucked neatly beside a small steamer trunk, which contained a veritable apothecary of herbs and ingredients for spell and ritual work, along with ampoules of holy water, artefacts, amulets of some dubious provenance, and several large containers of blessed Dead Sea salt.

After several moments of careful consideration he decided upon one of the swords, one with a long thin blade similar to a fencing sword. He made his way to one of the more hidden areas of the library, trying to stay out of sight of the doors and any remaining students and took a deep, centering breath.

He kept his grip light on the hilt of the sword, his arm held loosely out in front of him as he began. He felt his body relax into the familiar movements, familiar stances, feints and parries as the blade sliced through the air with its sweet metallic song. He lunged forward on a jump, feet and arms in perfect formation to turn into a flashy spin before landing solidly back into starting position.

He was sweating, breathing deeply and evenly, but as he moved to spin for a second time, the breath caught in his throat, body freezing as his focus returned to the previously empty doorway before him.

An empty doorway that now contained one Dean Winchester, his green eyes bright and shining with amusement as he clapped his hands together slowly.

***

Watching Cas move was nothing short of art. Graceful and fluid, the man had looked like a dancer, even with a blade in his hand. Muscles bunching and releasing beneath his clothes, so controlled and precise, it was breathtaking. Dean lost track of the minutes as he’d stood there, just watching.

When the Watcher suddenly froze, he realized he’d been caught. Hastily throwing on a grin he began clapping, though he meant it entirely genuinely. He’d rarely been so impressed, and he’d once watched his dad cut the head off of a creature with an X-acto knife.

Cas flushed, lowering the sword from where he’d been holding it aloft to tuck beneath his arm.

“Gotta say Cas, those are some pretty slick moves you’ve got there. They teach you that in boarding school?” He cajoled, willing to be the one to break the tension first.

The man blinked and then inhaled shortly, body relaxing even further as a small crooked grin appeared. “Yes, Dean, they did in fact.” His eyes darted away briefly before returning to Dean’s, a look Dean couldn’t quite figure on his face. “I wasn’t sure whether to expect you today, Dean. I...” The man studied the hilt of his sword for a moment. “I looked for you. Earlier. It’s only that you were injured last night and I wanted to check-“

Dean held up a hand to stop the man’s babbling. “Cas, it’s okay. Yeah, I’m not feeling my perkiest but I’m alright. I’ve taken worse beatings before. I missed a class or four, but I’m here now.”

Cas frowned. “Dean, about this morning-“

He decided to cut Cas off before he could get going. He didn’t think he could handle the man trying to let him down gently. “Look,” he said with a huff. “I get it, man. It sucks for me, ‘specially ‘cause I threw myself at you like some kind of spazz, but I get it. If we could both just like, forget about it that would be great. Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about that. I wanted to talk about last night. The fight I mean.”

Dean felt something inside him shatter just the tiniest bit as he watched the relief smooth across Cas’ face at his insistence that they forget about the kiss. It was for the best, probably, but there was at least some small part of Dean that wanted Cas to deny that it was a mistake and sweep him up into his arms like the rakish hero out of some stupid trashy romance novel that Dean had most definitely one hundred percent never read before in his life.

When Cas’ features settled once more back into familiar, professional, just-the-facts-ma’am lines, he nodded and motioned Dean to follow him as he went to return the sword to wherever it had come from.

Dean talked as they walked. “So last night you said you were at Purgatory on an assignment. From who? What kind of assignment?”

Cas led him into a caged in area along a wall and in front of a big storage cabinet. Dean tried and failed not to gape as the doors opened onto a treasure trove of weapony goodness. He startled when Cas prodded him with an elbow and he realized he hadn’t heard a word the man had said.

“As I was saying,” Cas said with a smirk, “While I am _your_ Watcher, I have my superiors in the Senior Watcher’s Council, the governing body of our organization, and it is from them that I receive my orders. According to the Council, they have recently become aware of an uptick in demonic activity, omens if you will, in and around this area. I, and by extension you, have been tasked with investigating several areas about town to determine if this intelligence is correct. As we both discovered last night, I believe it is safe to conclude that it is.” He finished thoughtfully, nodding to Dean as he hung the sword back in its place.

“So how do you know who’s a demon and who’s not?” Dean asked, turning away from the impressive collection.

Cas tilted his head slightly as he thought. “With experience, the signs can be quite clear. More often than not it’s subtle behavioral cues rather than outward demonic appearances, such as when the demons revealed themselves via their black eyes. The two that accosted you in the alley? I saw the male demon leading the young woman who was then also possessed into a darkened area of the club, suspicious, no?” He nodded and continued, without waiting for Dean to comment. “I followed them, but unfortunately lost them for a short time. When I found them again, it was in the alley and you were being beaten.”

Dean grimaced as his ribs ached at the memory. “Thank God you showed up and helped with that invocation or I’d have been done for.”

Cas patted his arm briefly. “You did quite well for your first time attempting an exorcism Dean. I believe with practice you’ll be quite the expert soon enough.”

Dean grinned sheepishly. “Thanks, I guess.” He frowned then when he reflected on what the Watcher had said about demon activity increasing. “Why do you think so many demons are coming here? I mean...it’s not exactly a bustling metropolis or anything.”

Cas considered the question as he closed and locked up the weapons cabinet. “The Council is not sure of their motivations yet, but the number of signs and omens has increased steadily over the last few months. And well, ‘center of mystical upheaval’ and all that. I’ve been assured the matter is being treated with the utmost importance and we shall be apprised of any developments, should they arise. “

Dean nodded. He supposed that was the best answer he was going to get for now. Clearly this Council was a stingy bunch when it came to sharing information.

Cas tilted his head again as they stepped outside the cage. “Do you have any further questions Dean?” he asked.

Dean flashed his Watcher a grin. “Just one. When are you gonna let _me_ have a go with those weapons? I bet I would look so cool with a crossbow” Dean mimed holding one in his arms, one eye squinted shut as he pretended to aim and fire a bolt over Cas’ shoulder.

Cas rolled his eyes heavenward with an obviously amused smile tugging at his lips. “We shall see about the crossbow Mr. Winchester. In the meantime, why don’t we begin at the beginning, with the quarterstaff? _After_ your studies, of course.”

Dean groaned exaggeratedly and followed Cas into his office to gather his books and journal.

****

From behind a tall shelf on the second level of the library, Jo took a few minutes to gather her thoughts. And they were some _weird_ thoughts. She’d come to the library to get a Trig book and ended up overhearing a conversation that sounded more like bad dialogue from a worse made-for-TV movie. Demons? Omens? What the hell was Dean Winchester involved in and how on Earth did the librarian play into it?

She needed to find Charlie. And now.

****

Dean was just about to start wrapping up his reading for the day and go badger his Watcher about weapons training again when Charlie and Jo burst into the library with grim, determined faces.

He hastily tucked his book beneath his stack of normal textbooks as they approached the table.

“Hey you two.” He said cautiously “What’s up?”

“There’s something we want to talk to you about, Dean.” Charlie’s face was serious, and she glanced toward Cas before continuing. “And you too, Mr. Novak.”

He and Cas exchanged a look of confusion. Dean shrugged.

Charlie bit her lip as both Dean and Cas turned toward her. “Okay, so....Right. We want to know what kind of crazy o-occult stuff you’re into.” She finished, determined.

Dean pretended to look baffled, but inside his heart was beginning to beat faster and faster. “What are you even talking about Charlie?”

She narrowed her eyes at him as if to dare him to keep denying it. “Dean, I saw you last night. In an alley. Fighting with two weirdos with _black eyes_! And there was Latin! And then Mr. Novak swooped in out of the shadows like Professor Snape and made them _explode_! With Latin!” Her eyes widened and her hands gesticulated wildly.

“And _I_ heard you guys talking about demons in this very library, not even two hours ago!” Jo shouted incredulously. She threw her hands up. “Demons, Dean? I mean, what even?! What’s a council? Why do you need weapons?” She wheeled on Cas and the man held his hands out in front of himself as if to show he had no weapons as she pointed at him. “Why do _you_ even _have_ weapons!? You’re a librarian!” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on?!” She demanded.

Dean gazed imploringly at Cas, willing the Watcher to save him once again. When Cas pulled his glasses off and began polishing them, Dean knew they were toast.

“Dean, I....What I mean to say is this is highly...” Cas slid his glasses back onto his face and blinked owlishly. “This is highly irregular. Also, unwise. But. It’s clear Ms. Bradbury and Ms. Harvelle already have knowledge that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. I leave it up to you if you wish to share with your friends the truth, within reason. Only remember that further knowledge of such things may lead them down paths as yet unseen. Paths that may lead them to harm, one day.”

Charlie, at least, looked appropriately fearful of Cas’ dire (and Dean hoped, effective) warning. “I think I need to sit down.” She said faintly.

Jo snorted, bravado only a little forced. “Babe, you are sitting.”

Charlie blinked once, twice. “Right.” She shook herself then and her face became serious. “Tell us, please, Dean?”

Dean rubbed both hands over his face before looking first at Charlie and then at Jo. When Jo nodded, he closed his eyes and sighed. Jesus, what a day he’d had.

**

“So monsters, demons, are real?” Charlie said, looking distantly off over Dean's shoulder.

“Yep.”

“And you hunt them? Hunt them, and fight them?” Jo was incredulous. She muttered under her  
breath. “I can't believe I'm having a conversation with monsters in it.”

“Yep.”

The two of them appeared to be taking in the information he had revealed about his life as a hunter and what that entailed.

Charlie looked at Cas then. He had been silent the whole time Dean had been speaking.

“So what do you do Mr. Novak? Are you a hunter too?” She seemed more curious than apprehensive now.

“I am a Watcher, Miss Bradbury. There is an organization based in England, of people such as myself,” he nodded to Jo then. “called the Council, who work together with hunters, especially younger hunters without the benefit of years of prior experience.” Cas explained.

“So...you're Dean's Watcher then?” Jo asked, looking to Dean and then back to Cas.

Both Dean and Cas nodded.

The girls were silent then.

Dean waited, but when no more questions were forthcoming he prompted. “Anything else you’re dying to ask?”

They exchanged a look before turning back to him with matching grins that Dean was instantly suspicious of.

“How can we help?”

Dean’s forehead thunked dully against the table as he slumped in defeat.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings for: underage drinking, alcohol as a coping mechanism, slight dub-con for implied sex while drunk, jealous!Cas, panic attack, mentions of past sexual harrassment/assault, homophobic/racist language, BAMF!Charlie

Dean’s life, seldom settled and rarely routine by any stretch of the imagination, had somehow in those first few weeks become almost shockingly...normal.

Well, by hunter’s standards anyway.

He was also, by nature, suspicious of ‘normal.’ Normal for Dean was waiting with baited breath for the other dogshit encrusted shoe to drop right smack in the middle of ‘normal’ and fuck everything all to hell.

In the end, he really should have seen it coming.

**

_-October-_

Dean found a certain measure of peace in routine. Granted, he was also just as likely to find just as much of an equal if not greater measure of paranoia in routine as well, but for now, Dean was focusing on peace. He deserved peace, didn’t he?

Weekdays, he took Sammy to school and hustled himself off to class as well. If on occasion he missed a class here or there to heal from a beating or to duck out to smoke some evil, he didn’t think his attendance was so terrible. Lunch was Charlie and Jo, sometimes outside enjoying the last of the late summer sunshine, sometimes in the library on colder, rainy days with Cas despairing of crumbs and smears on his precious volumes as they researched their way through the lunch period. After school was for studying, both his actual homework and the lessons his Watcher assigned him, and he was earning decent (if not good) grades all around. Then it was picking up Sammy to head home for a home cooked dinner ( _Dean didn’t think he’d ever get sick of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, not after years of canned spaghetti or cold cereal dinners_ ) and spending the evening helping his brother with his homework and watching re-runs of Dr. Sexy. A few nights a week he patrolled with Cas, and then he was home and in his own bed long before the sun came up and he could start the whole thing over again.

Weekends were for weapons training, and pretty much Dean’s favorite part of the week. Spending the day at Cas’ house or the salvage yard, sparring hand to hand, or with the quarterstaff Dean was swiftly excelling at. Soon, he thought, Cas would trust him not to cut his own limbs off and let him play with one of the swords, or maybe even the crossbow.

Cas was _glorious_ when he fought. The Watcher’s eyes would gleam, glowing brightly blue with intense focus as they faced off and Dean never felt more alive, more seen. And the first time Dean had seen him in a sweat drenched shirt, he had spent the next three hours hobbling through his drills with a determined hard-on that just wouldn’t quit.

The Scooby Gang, as Charlie had dubbed their hodgepodge band of misfits almost immediately, were melding together flawlessly. With Dean and his Watcher at the wheel, they were a research powerhouse, and they’d even started to bring Sammy in on some of the action because no one knew Bobby’s library as well as Sam did. Not even Bobby.

At first, Dean had been reluctant to let them help. The last thing he’d wanted to do was put the lives of his new friends at risk, and if they got involved it was only inevitable. But Charlie was an undeniable computer whiz, secretly a white hat hacker who enjoyed a challenge and could research for hours on end without getting bored. Jo hated the research part, but she loved playing bait whenever she had the chance to go on a minor hunt or patrol with Dean. She was picking up knife skills like a pro and it didn’t take him long to take her at her word that she could handle herself. Mostly.

Dean and Cas were gelling like they were made for each other. Always within one another’s orbit, always aware of where the other was in a fight, always aware of each other just in general.

Perhaps once or twice they caught each other’s eyes for a moment too long, the eye contact burning up the space between their bodies, hands aching to reach out and touch or be touched, but they kept their distance, honoring the unspoken truce between them to leave sleeping dogs lie.

Still, Dean woke up more than once, cock hard and heart pounding from vivid, too-real feeling dreams of blue eyes and miles of pale muscle. But he’d only take himself in hand, solve the problem of the moment, and move on; he was certain Cas was doing the same and he wasn’t about to feel guilty about it. Besides, the orgasms were amazing, leaving him loose and boneless for hours afterward.

**

On a rainy afternoon, Dean sat in Principal McLeod's office next to a stoned-looking kid with an honest-to-God mullet. McLeod stood in front of his desk, hands in his pockets, leaning a hip against it as he looked them both over with his signature sneer.

“A lot of educators tell students, _'Think of your principal as your pal._ ' Well I say, _'Think of me as your judge, jury, and executioner._ ' Tell me,” He looked from Dean to the other boy. “Which of you do you think is the more troublesome student in this school?”

Dean shifted in his chair. He really didn’t think it was him. Was it?

“The two of you do seem to be competing for the title. On one hand Dean has never stabbed a horticulture teacher with a trowel.”

Dean slowly turned to stare at his fellow student.

The kid drawled lazily, “I ain't stabbed nobody with a trowel.” He grinned. “They was pruning shears.”

McLeod gave him a disgusted look before returning his beady gaze to Dean. “On the other hand Ash has never set fires on school property.”

Dean swallowed. There _had_ been an instance a week ago where the boy’s locker room had been haunted by the spirit of a former football player that had ended with them salting and burning the Letterman jacket that had hung in a trophy case. The smell of burnt polyester hadn’t dissipated for days.

“The two of you seem to be tied in the class-cutting and fight-starting events. You really are neck and neck here.” His eyebrows rose with a smirk. “It is rather exciting.”

Ash grinned like an idiot. “What's the winner get?”

McLeod flicked his eyes between them, smirk widening to a grin of wolf-like proportions. “Expelled.”

Dean gulped. He really didn’t think he’d missed _that_ many classes. And besides, he was providing a needed service to the community. Honestly, you’d think that should cut him some slack.

The principal continued in his smooth voice, “This Friday, the school is hosting a Parent-Teacher evening. Your parents,” He looked to Dean, “assuming you have any, will meet your teachers,” He looked to Ash then, “assuming _you_ have any left. I have, perhaps stupidly, decided to put the two of you in charge of this event. You have until then to prepare. I will expect refreshments, posters and banners made, and the lounge in the lobby made into a habitable place for adults. This will incur my good will, and _may_ affect what I tell your parents when I meet them. Am I being clear?”

Dean nodded immediately. “I'm clear.”

He looked at Ash. Ash just looked stoned. “Don't you feel clear?”

He turned back to face McLeod. “We're very clear.”

McLeod just smiled that evil wolf-smile. “Very good, boys.” The man turned to slide behind his desk, dismissing them with a wave. Just as they reached the threshold Dean paused to hear him purr, “Because if you screw this up, your parents will be coming to clean out your lockers.”

**

Dean tried to get Ash’s attention as they left the office. Jo and Charlie, waiting in the hallway outside, stood and fell into step behind them as they walked.

“Hey dude? Ash?” Dean poked the guy’s arm when he didn’t respond. Slowly Ash turned bloodshot eyes his way. Dean sighed. “Look, we have to do this thing right, man. I can’t get kicked out of school. I’ll be in the library after school; meet me there and bring some art supplies.”

Ash stared at him for a moment longer and Dean contemplated slapping him upside the head.

“Yeah okay man. Sure compadre. I’ll be there.” Ash threw him a pair of devil horns and wandered away down the hallway without another word.

Dean buried his face in his hands with a groan. “Oh, God. I am so fucked.”

****

In the dim pale light of an abandoned warehouse, a yellow-eyed demon stepped in front of a crowd of lesser demons. They were restless, they wanted to play. They’d been waiting long enough. As had he.

“You all know why I've called you here. We have the location of the Winchester boy. We know that he attends the local high school, where he lives, where he goes. It’s time. I want him. Let’s go get him.”

The demons dispersed and Azazel smiled. Dean Winchester would be his.

****

Castiel hung up the phone and scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the catch of an early five-o-clock shadow beginning to darken his jaw. The news from London hadn’t been promising and Castiel hated having to put yet another thing on Dean’s plate this week, but it had to be done. They had a duty to humankind.

He crossed from his desk to stand in the doorway of his office and just watched the young hunter and his friends for a moment, enjoying their laughter and chatter as they worked. Dean was so carefree, so open these days, and it had been transformative. Dean threw his head back to laugh at some joke, a long streak of orange paint down the side of his face, and Castiel wanted to feel the echoes of that laughter through his own body. How might it feel to have Dean laughing while in Castiel’s arms? He dearly wished to know.

He smiled as Dean caught his eye and sketched a wave, splattering drops of purple paint across his white t-shirt, and probably Charlie’s as well. When Dean bent over carelessly, stretching to reach a spot, Castiel’s mouth went dry to see the way the worn, faded denim molded to the round curves of his arse.

He clenched his eyes shut tightly, taking a deep, cleansing breath, willing his arousal down before striding forward to get the hunter’s attention.

“Dean, I’ve just had a phone call from the Council” Castiel’s eyes flicked to the boy sleeping on one of the long tables nearby. He motioned for Dean to follow him to a safer distance to avoid being overheard. “According to their most recent data, demonic activity in Sioux Falls has risen exponentially in only the past few days. Reports of electrical storms statewide, temperature fluctuations, cattle mutilations. Dean something is coming and it appears to be coming very quickly. We will need to investigate this matter further, and immediately.”

Dean made a frustrated noise, eyebrows pulling tightly together. “Cas, I can’t skip out on this Parent-Teacher thing. I told you what McLeod said, if I fuck this up I’m out of here.” Dean turned pleading green eyes Castiel’s way. “I can’t get kicked out of school, man. I haven’t even been here two months.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose to stem his desire to give into Dean without a fight. “I do understand your dilemma, Dean, but we have a serious situation on our hands and a duty to do what we can to deter it. A mass influx of demons upon this town is rather just the slightest bit more of a pressing issue, wouldn’t you agree?” He planted his hands upon his hips in an effort to appear stern and unbending to Dean’s wiles.

Dean ground his teeth, just ever so slightly. “Cas. Look, I don’t have a choice.” His voice lowered to a rough whisper. “This asshole here who’s supposed to be-“

Without moving from his prone position, the boy, Ash, interjected with a, “I’m here ain’t I?”

Dean and Castiel paled simultaneously.

***

“Uh...you heard that?” Dean stared in dismay at the other boy. How was he going to play this? Could he pretend they were only talking about a movie or video game?

Ash rolled over and sat up on the table, eyes bleary and legs dangling over the side. “Yeah, man. But look, don’t blow a gasket okay? Demons, monsters, whatever...totally real, you don’t gotta tell me.” He scratched at his chin. “I seen some shit, too, believe you me. Was maybe nine when somethin’ got my Pa, rest his soul, chewed him up all to hell. Creepy ass thing, looked like a little kid, but like, _scary_ , ya dig? Naturally, I got curious, did some lookin’ around a bit.”

Ash looked up from the middle ground his gaze had wandered off to, eyes suddenly startlingly clear. “I can help you track ‘em if you want. Y’all can just keep doing your thing and let Dr. Badass handle the omens.”

When everyone simply continued to stare, Ash blinked. “Y’all okay?”

Dean broke first. “You...what?” He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

Ash spoke very slowly then, as if speaking to a child. “I can assist you in tracking the demonic activity via a computer algorithm that extrapolates data and can aid in determining a focal point or source location. Do I need to make myself clearer here?”

The all shook their heads.

He grinned. “Well, alright then. Gimme about,” He quickly calculated something in his head. “51 hours.” And then promptly lay back down on the table.

**

Friday morning Dean awoke with a heartfelt groan. He _so_ did not want to do this thing tonight. He’d painted and prepped until he dropped into bed each night with exhaustion.

Thankfully Ash, or as he now insisted everyone call him Dr. Badass, really had handled the omen situation. He’d shown up Wednesday afternoon in the library as if he was part of the team (and Dean guessed he probably ought to be, considering) and cracked open a laptop that looked horrifyingly homemade. Charlie had been equal parts impressed and distraught by the mess of wires and scrap soldering holding the thing together as it was fired up next to her own sleek machine. The program Ash had developed had been scouring through the data for hours and they were hoping for a location soon.

Dean dressed and scrubbed his face, plodding down to the kitchen to shove some breakfast in his face before he and Sam headed off for school. Bobby was sitting at the table when he walked into the room, half hidden behind a newspaper that for all appearances seemed to be written in Japanese.

He scratched his nose.

“Hey Bobby?”

The top half of the paper folded down enough to reveal eyes.

“Yeah kid?”

“You, uh, busy tonight?” he asked.

Bobby’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

Dean shuffled in place. “Well I’ve been working on this Parent-Teacher thing this week to get McLeod off my back for that salt and burn we did at the school, and apparently he thinks that if he threatens to tell you what a crap student I am that it’ll scare me straight or something. I played along, ‘cause, well, I don’t wanna get expelled, but now I kind of need you to show up and talk to him.” Dean finished in a rush, neck flushing hot at having to ask. He knew he didn’t really have anything to worry about; there wasn’t anything McLeod could tell Bobby that Bobby didn’t already know.

Bobby scratched at his head under his cap. “Yeah, guess I can make an appearance for your sake, kid. How do you want me to play it? Straight or pretext?”

Dean grinned. “Play it straight Bobby, you just be your sweet old self.” He snorted. “McLeod won’t know what to do with you at _all_.”

**

By 5:30 that evening everything was set up and perfect and parents were just starting to trickle into the lounge area. He smiled politely at everyone who stopped by his table and surreptitiously checked his watch urging the minute hand along just the tiniest bit faster. McLeod was starting to hover alarmingly in the corner eyeing him distrustfully and it was making Dean’s skin itch.

Around seven Bobby showed up dressed to impress no one in his usual dirty trucker cap and oil stained jeans. He clapped Dean on the back heartily and offered his hand when the principal made his way over to the pair of them. The man raked a disparaging eye over Bobby’s person and then reluctantly took his hand to shake. Bobby grinned and shook McLeod’s manicured hand grandly until the other man practically yanked himself free with a shudder, taking a hasty step backward and asking Bobby for a minute of his time.

In less than five minutes Bobby returned and gave Dean a cheerful grimace that revealed nothing. “Well, boy...I figure that went about as well as it was goin’ to.”

**

He was still trying to figure out exactly what Bobby meant, long after the man had departed for home when the lights suddenly flickered and died. There were little screams here and there around the as people tried to figure out what was going on.

When the backup emergency lights failed to come on after a minute, Dean knew exactly what they were dealing with.

_Demons._

Probably a lot of them.

Dean was already moving, getting himself into position when the front doors burst inward into splinters. Stepping over the wreckage of the door, an average size man surrounded by black eyed demons walked a few paces away from Dean and then stopped.

The man’s lips creased in a smile that was terrifying for its utter blandness on the face of the middle aged man the demon was riding. “Hey, kiddo. I’m sorry to crash your party. Well, actually, I’m not, but I couldn’t wait anymore.” The man shrugged and grinned widely as his eyes flipped to a pale yellow.

Dean fell back a step in shock. All this time he’d been looking for the bastard, and he shows up here of all places? Now? _He_ was the reason all the demon activity?

Black eyed minions began pouring into the school and people started to run.

Dean lunged forward without a plan, not even a weapon in place that would do a single goddamn thing to that monster, but he was beyond rational thought at this point. The Yellow-Eyed demon eyed him as he jumped; flicking a casual hand in the air and the next thing he knew he was plastered against the wall struggling to regain his breath.

***

Castiel was in the library, enjoying a cup of tea and the blessed peace and quiet. Thankfully, as librarian, he hadn’t expected or received many visitors. One or two of the more bookish students had brought their parents through, but overall high school students tended to avoid the library like the plague.

He propped his feet up rebelliously on the edge of his desk, lifting the mug to his face to inhale the fragrant steam. He was about to take a sip when every hair on his body stood on end and the lights began flickering. Once, twice.

He was on his feet, tea abandoned in an instant and running full tilt for the weapons cabinet as they went out. He had unlocked and thrown open the doors when a clatter and the sound of running feet echoed through the library’s open spaces. Castiel tucked as many weapons as he could into every available pocket and sleeve and had just begun creeping to the edge of the book cage when he heard Jo call out his name.

“Cas? Are you here?!” She was wild-eyed and breathless as he ran to her. “Oh God, Cas, there are demons in the lobby and _they have Dean_!”

Castiel’s heart stopped in his chest, freezing him with panic before he burst into action. He needed to be out there, damn it! He ran to the filing cabinet in his office and took out a slim voice recorder. A tape was already loaded into the deck, both sides full of Dean practicing Latin invocations until he’d memorized them forwards and backwards. Castiel hadn’t had the heart to erase it yet. He thrust the recorder into Jo’s shaking hands. “Take this to the office, Jo. Take it and play it on a loop over the P.A. system as quickly as you can. Go!”

As the girl turned and ran for the door he palmed a round ampoule of holy water in one hand and a stake in the other before breaking into a sprint for the lobby.

On his way there he spotted students and parents huddled in corners. “Run for the library, there is

an exit in the back of the stacks on the second level! Go now! The hallway is clear behind me.” They scrambled to their feet and ran without looking back.

Turning the corner for the hall leading to the lobby, a demon barreled directly into him. He wasted no time slamming the stake into its heart and he ran as it fell screaming to the floor.

He had somewhere to be and nothing was getting in his way.

***

Dean was still struggling, pinned up against the wall when he heard a scream come from down the hall. Yellow-Eyes barely reacted to the sound, those sickly jaundiced pupils never leaving his face as the demon slowly squeezed the air from his lungs.

Just as stars began to burst across his vision from the lack of oxygen, both he and the demon were caught entirely by surprise when a figure crashed into Yellow-Eyes at speed, riding the demon to the ground with a shout. The demon howled in pain as a glass bottle was smashed over his head and a stake of pale wood was shoved through his back.

The invisible bonds holding him in place vanished, leaving him sliding down the wall just trying to take in all of the action as he gasped for breath.

He watched the demon writhe in pain, skin bubbling and hissing as it managed to rear up onto its knees throwing Cas a dozen feet across the room to slam backwards into a table. Reaching behind him, the demon pulled the stake out of his back and turned furious eyes onto Dean.

“Dean, Dean, Dean...whatever will I do with you _now._ ”

Yellow-Eyes began advancing on Dean at the same time the speakers of the P.A. system crackled and squealed with feedback. There was scratchy silence for half a second before he heard his own voice working its way steadily through the wordy exorcism Cas had made him repeat over and over again until he was sick to death of it. He’d say it a thousand times more if it helped them now.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ -”

The demons that remained in the lobby shrieked, hands protecting their ears as they fought to make a break for it. Yellow-Eyes ran for the door, shoving humans and demons alike out of his way as he went.

***

Castiel blinked back into consciousness in time to see the demon he’d tackled and staked disappearing through the ruined doorway, other demons belching black smoke as their vessels dropped to the linoleum like stones.

Light pierced his eyes painfully, his skull throbbing dully when he opened them again at the sound of his name being shouted. Dean knelt at his side, shaking him gently, concern clear in his wide green eyes. Castiel flapped a hand in Dean’s direction, aiming for a reassuring pat, and missing by a mile. He opened his eyes wider to keep himself from slipping back under. “Dean. I will be fine. Not the first time I’ve been knocked about.” His hand found Dean’s face and patted softly. “Are _you_ all right Dean?”

Dean’s eyes closed at the touch and he took a breath. “Yeah,” he exhaled. Then with a shake of his head the hunter sat back onto his heels. “Actually, no, not really.”

Castiel made a questioning noise, fingertips missing at once the warmth of Dean’s cheek.

“Yeah I mean...I just can't believe it was him. Why did he come here? He said he'd been looking for me? Why? Hasn't he killed enough of my family?” Dean seemingly asked of no one in particular.

Castiel had just as many questions without answers and little comfort to offer. His eyelids felt like lead weights and he was struggling to stay awake when his hunter so obviously needed him. He couldn’t have said how much time had passed before Dean was helping him to stand, slinging an arm around his waist. Castiel leaned hard against Dean’s side as they walked, relishing being allowed to feel the firm heat of the hunter’s body so close to his own.

****

Principal Fergus McLeod stood on the front lawn of Sioux Falls High School and surveyed the scene of chaos around him. There were police cars in the street and uniformed officers everywhere attending to the hysterical parents and students that had run from the building.

When asked for a statement by the press, he automatically gave the answer he had been instructed to give if an incident of this nature, by which he meant to interpret as supernatural, uncanny, or inexplicable, were to ever happen on school grounds.

He straightened the lapels of his tailored suit jacket and leaned into the recorder the reporter had thrust into his face. “Not to worry folks, the worst is over now. If you ask me, it was gang related, maybe even PCP.”

****

In a luxuriously decorated office within City Hall, a Yellow-Eyed demon named Azazel was tied to a chair in the center of a complex circle of symbols. He was helpless.

Mayor Nick D'iavolo frowned tightly.

His daughter Lilith had called him from outside of the school where she had said an unknown demon had stormed in and attacked the hunter Dean Winchester. Nick wanted to know why.

“Are you aware of whom I am?” He asked the bound man.

The man’s head shook in the negative.

“Nick D’iavolo, Mayor of Sioux Falls. I would shake your hand, but alas. Surely, you understand the necessity.”

He leveled a cold stare at the man. “I’ve been informed that you are responsible for an attack on the high school this evening. Specifically, you targeted a young man named Dean Winchester. Tell me why.”

The demon puffed his chest proudly within his bonds. “The Winchester family has been a pet project of mine for years. I started with the mother and only recently added the father to my collection. I wanted the boy and I found myself unable to resist treating myself a little ahead of schedule.” The man grinned insanely.

Lucifer save him from idiotic demons with ridiculous fixations. Nick knew from Lilith that the particular caste of demon that Azazel belonged to were at one time quite accustomed to following orders, but leadership in the underworld had been dreadfully lax for the past century or so. Bored soldiers left to their own devices only ever resulted in chaos.

Nick poured himself a finger of scotch from a heavy cut crystal decanter. He picked the glass up and gave it a swirl. “While I do admire ambition, allow me to make myself perfectly clear. Dean Winchester is mine and I will not permit him to be touched. I have plans for the boy that are crucial to the success of several of my...campaign promises. I need this boy alive, for now, and I will stop at nothing to ensure that he remains so until he comes of age. Have I made myself understood?”

The man nodded warily, eyes narrowing suspiciously as Nick’s expression turned considering. “You obviously have some awareness of what I am, but I feel obligated to warn you, demons don’t die easy. I’ve been on this planet longer than you can even comprehend.”

Nick laughed, impressed at the show of bravado despite himself. If he only knew who he was really talking to, the man would prostrate himself at Nick’s feet in veneration. “My dear man, I’m not planning to kill you, not yet in any case.” He turned to settle himself in a comfortable leather wingback chair, motioning to two dark suited demons that melted from their unobtrusive shadows at the gesture.

“I am not in the habit of disposing of things that may prove useful to me. Play nicely with the boys here and decide if you wish to be useful. I think you’ll find I can be quite generous when it comes to rewarding loyalty.”

The dull sound of flesh impacting flesh provided background ambiance as Nick sipped at his drink with smile.

****

Once everyone that had been present for the attack had been accounted for and sent safely home, Dean collected Cas from the library, shuffled the Watcher out to the Impala and tucked him carefully into the front seat. The man was still dizzy and out of it from being tossed around and into furniture and Dean huffed an indulgent laugh as he reached across the seat to buckle his seatbelt for him. He stilled when Cas nuzzled his face into Dean’s shoulder. When he pulled back to look a question at the Watcher he found the man slumped back against the headrest already.

The sound of his name drew him out of his contemplation and he stood, closing the door and turning to see Charlie, her arm around Jo, looking at him curiously. Charlie jostled Jo slightly and smiled at the blonde’s whine. “I’m gonna take Jo home and tuck her in.” Dean smirked. He just bet she would. She glanced at Cas sprawled out in the Impala. “You guys good?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get him home and tucked in, too.” His face heated at the thought of seeing Cas in his own bed, all soft and rumpled. Dean almost swore that Charlie leered at him before the expression was gone and she was turning her attention back to Jo, murmuring quietly in her ear.

She waggled her fingers at him in a wave as she helped Jo with her door and into Charlie’s little hatchback. “Call me tomorrow?” She asked, snorting when Dean saluted in the affirmative and slid behind the wheel.

Dean watched until she pulled out of the parking lot, tail lights fading into the distance, before he sighed and got into the Impala and cranked it to life.

***

Castiel surfaced into consciousness slowly, opening his eyes as Dean pulled into his driveway. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He asked.

“We’re here Cas.” Dean’s voice was quiet in the hush of the interior. The hunter sighed when Castiel failed to respond and got out of the car, coming around to the passenger side to reach in and wrap an arm around his shoulders, helping him to slide his feet to the ground to stand. They walked together to the door and Castiel fumbled clumsily with his key ring as he slipped it from his pocket. Another sigh as Dean took them without a word, and Castiel was grateful.

Once inside Castiel was led to his couch and pushed gently to the cushions. He relaxed against the familiar soft leather and closed his eyes again. He didn’t seem to be able to help it at this point.

A shock of unexpected cold startled him awake; Dean crouched before him holding an ice bag to the back of his head.

Dean’s smile was soft and sweet, and Castiel wanted to taste it. “There you are.”

Castiel raised a hand to rest on Dean’s arm. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean’s smile widened, his eyes luminous in the warm lamplight. “Well, I owed you one.” One shoulder lifted and dropped as he shrugged. Dean shifted, his body brushing against Castiel’s legs as he adjusted his hold on the ice and Castiel opened his knees without thinking. Dean tipped forward as he lost his balance, a hand splayed out to steady himself landing hot and heavy on Castiel’s thigh

Dean stammered and blushed and moved to push himself back to his feet and Castiel was too tired to resist reaching for his hunter. Dean’s eyes were wide on his as Castiel cupped his face in his palms, thumbs stroking along the boy’s sharp cheekbones. He came easily when Castiel tilted his face up and pulled him in, a small hungry sound escaping him when their lips brushed lightly.

Castiel hummed against Dean’s mouth, deepening the kiss, stomach clenching under the onslaught of want as Dean melted into it, opening so sweetly to him.

The ice bag dropped to the couch as Dean abandoned it to dig his fingers into Castiel’s thighs and Castiel nipped at his lips to reward him. Dean whined, so beautifully responsive. Castiel’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging his head back sharply to expose the flushed skin of the boy’s throat. Dean moaned loudly as Castiel latched eagerly onto the sweat salty skin beneath his jaw, sucking a dark bruise into the pulsing flesh.

He jolted when Dean’s hand slid up his thigh to cover his cock with pressure and heat. Drawing back from Dean’s throat with a gasp, he struggled to catch his breath when fingers squeezed him softly, needful green eyes catching his as the reality of what he’d just done crashed into him painfully.

“Dean.” His voice was raspy, throat thick. He coughed to clear it, sobering quickly. “Dean, stop.” His hands dropped from Dean’s face, fingers wrapped around the boy’s wrist to remove his hand from Castiel’s still hard cock.

Dean grasped onto Castiel’s thigh roughly, the unfocused glaze of arousal fading by the second as he realized what Castiel intended. “No. _Cas_ , please don’t-“The pleaded whisper was loud in the silence.

Castiel pushed Dean back gently by the shoulders and tried to draw him to his feet. The hunter resisted, jerking himself backward and out of Castiel’s grasp. His expression was thunderous, betrayed.

“Dean, please forgive me. I forgot myself. That should not have happened.” Castiel reached out a hand, flinching when Dean slapped it away from him.

The boy scrambled to his feet, eyes flashing with contained violence down at Castiel, fists clenched at his sides. “I should have known better than to hope that you’d finally admit that you feel the same things I do. God, I’m so stupid.” Dean laughed, the sound terrible, raking his hands through his hair. “I’m done, Cas. I kept my distance, let you pretend that there wasn’t something between us. You kissed me this time; I won’t take the blame for this. Not again. I want you so badly it hurts sometimes, but I can’t do this anymore.”

Castiel watched, at a complete loss for how to fix this, what to say, as Dean shoved himself into his leather jacket, digging in the pockets for his keys with an unreadable look on his face.

He found his voice when Dean had one foot out of the doorway. “Dean, I-“

Dean’s shoulders tensed and he paused without turning around.

“Fuck you, Cas.”

The door slammed shut with a bang.

***

Dean tore through the streets, driving blind, gas pedal nearly pressed to the floor. He couldn’t breathe, chest tight with the anger and humiliation blazing through him like hellfire.

Without even knowing how he’d gotten there he was grinding the Impala into park across from Purgatory, fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel as he fought to pull air into his lungs past the hot, choking thickness in his throat. The mark Cas had sucked into his skin ached like a brand.

He dug through the glove box for the fake ID he used sometimes for hunts and deemed it acceptable. He needed a fucking drink. He needed a fucking _bottle_.

There was no shout for him to stop at the door, no demand to see his ID as he shouldered his way through the crowd to the bar. Throwing himself onto a stool he waited impatiently for the bartender to turn his way. “Jack.” He ordered gruffly. “Make it a double.” The bartender cocked an eyebrow at him but wisely refrained from commenting as he tossed it back with a shudder and gestured for a refill.

He hunched over the sticky bar, sipping slower from his second drink now that the burn of the first was unfurling through him. The back of his neck prickled and his shoulders tensed, head turning just slightly to see who was watching him so hard.

A pair of icy blue eyes met his, a crooked smile framed by a scruffy beard lifting on the older boy’s cheeks when he nodded to acknowledge Dean from his seat a few stools down.

Dean looked away, staring into his glass, before he found his eyes drawn back to the boy without realizing he’d done it. The smile widened at Dean’s attention and the next thing he knew, the boy was sliding onto the barstool beside Dean.

“Ain’t seen you around here before darlin’, and believe you me, I think I’d have remembered you. Name’s Benny.” The blue eyes glittered as he gave Dean a thorough once-over.

“Dean.” He offered, hands restless with nervousness as he fiddled with his drink.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dean. So, what brings you out on a Friday night to drink alone?” Benny asked casually. Dean’s face heated with embarrassment when he looked up to catch Benny’s gaze focused on the blood-dark bruise on his throat and barely resisted the urge to cover the mark with his hand.

“Oh, you know.” Dean fought not to stammer like an idiot. He gestured to the glass in front of him. “Just needed a drink, really.”

Benny nodded and lifted his own drink to touch it to Dean’s with a quiet clink of glassware.

Long minutes passed as they drank in silence, Dean feeling completely out of his element and entirely too warm. His mind was in a thousand different places and he honestly didn’t think he had it in him to make vaguely flirty small talk with a stranger, even if said stranger was compelling as hell.

Benny seemed to take mercy on him when after finishing his beer and flagging down the bartender for another, he tipped his head in Dean’s direction. “Good to meet you, Dean. Hope I run into you again soon.” He gave Dean another wink and collected his drink before drifting off into the crowd, leaving Dean to wallow alone, flushed and confused.

**

Dean lost track of how much he’d had to drink. When he stumbled down off the barstool his legs were unsteady, the neon lights from the dance floor making his vision stream unpleasantly with color. He wove his way slowly to the bathroom and sighed with relief when he pushed his way inside without having fallen down during the journey.

He pissed without incident and was standing at the sink splashing water on his face when the door swung open behind him. He looked up to see Benny standing in the doorway before letting the door fall shut. The eye contact held in the mirror as Benny crossed the floor. Heat flared as Dean recognized the look of frank appreciation in Benny’s eyes as he stepped up behind Dean and stopped.

Dean sucked in a breath and was turning to face Benny before he’d even decided to do so. He took a moment to really look at the boy in front of him. Older than Dean, maybe twenty or so, Benny was built thickly, broad and muscled in the shoulders, filling out the black jacket he wore over a pale t-shirt. Slim hips and solid thighs were showcased by tight fit jeans and accentuated by leather boots. Dean let his eyes wander pointedly over the noticeable bulge in Benny’s jeans and lifted them to the other boy’s face.

Benny smiled that crooked smile of his, eyes darkening with obvious hunger as he leaned in, backing Dean up against the cool porcelain of the sink. Dean rested a hand against the firm muscle of Benny’s chest and tilted his head back in challenge. Benny’s gaze slid down, a soft growl rumbling through his chest as it caught once more on the mark on his neck.

Dean fisted his hand into Benny’s shirt and yanked him in, their mouths crashing together messily, teeth and tongues clashing with a shared groan. Strong arms wrapped around him, picking him up almost effortlessly to sit on the narrow sink ledge. He wrapped his legs around Benny’s hips and gasped at the feeling of their cocks hard and tightly pressed together. Benny rocked against him as his head fell back against the mirror, lips following the line of his jaw to his throat.

Dean cried out when Benny’s tongue licked hot and wet across the bruised skin, teeth scraping over the spot before latching on hard, sucking until Dean was squirming with the pain and pleasure of it all and half afraid he was going to come right then and there in his jeans.

Benny pulled back from his neck to look down at him with eyes that Dean thought he might drown in. Their heavy breaths fogged together as they stared at one another.

Dean wrapped a hand around Benny’s neck and pushed off of the sink to slide down the other boy’s body, shuddering at the friction against his cock. He leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth before turning his head to whisper in his ear.

“Take me home?”

**

Dean woke the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. Naked. His body ached, a deep, physical ache that left little doubt about what he’d done last night. He felt other, smaller aches and looked down at his body. Purpling fingertip bruises littered his hips and thighs, his nipples bitten red and tender. His eyelids fluttered shut as he drew a finger over one of the swollen nubs.

He shifted around carefully to see a broad back sprinkled with soft brown hair, the lean body sprawled face first into the pillow. Dean inched his way to the edge of the mattress, slipping out of the bed to tip-toe quietly about the room, gathering his scattered clothes from the floor. He dressed as quickly as he could, trying not to be loud enough to wake the other boy who was snoring softly, deeply asleep.

He was creeping toward the door when a ridiculous impulse struck him. Sneaking back to the bed before he could change his mind, he rifled through the remaining clothing on the floor until he found a cell phone in the pocket of a pair of jeans. He thumbed his way to the contacts and tapped his own number into it, saving it with a hastily snapped photo of himself grinning cheekily and very clearly well-fucked. He flushed at his boldness and tucked the phone back where he’d found it before slipping silently out of the room.

***

Sunlight assaulted Castiel’s eyes the moment he awoke in a disheveled heap sprawled on the floor from where he’d fallen from the couch. His head pounded in hellish agony and his mouth was sticky and sour and foul tasting. His hand sent an empty bottle rolling madly across the floor and he remembered the events of the night before.

That kiss, _God_ that kiss. Dean’s body against his, wanting, needy, all but begging Castiel for more.

And then he had to go and bugger it all to fucking hell.

He’d gone straight for the liquor the minute he heard the roar of Dean’s car fading off into silence. He’d known it was a monumentally stupid idea to get drunk on top of a probable concussion, but he couldn’t have cared less by then.

Christ, he was the worst.

He groaned and levered himself up from the floor, willing himself not to be sick all over his rug. Shambling up the stairs he stripped as soon as he hit the landing, leaving clothing in a trail to the bathroom. He cranked the shower on to just a degree below scalding and stepped under the spray before it had even completely warmed.

Palms flat against the tile, Castiel hung his head and let the water flow over his body, easing some of the ache in his temples, sickly sweat and the stink of alcohol sluicing off of him until his skin was pink and smarting. 

Flashes of memory swam up behind his eyes as he began to feel slightly more human. Dean’s mouth, soft, sweet boy. Castiel’s fingers in his hair. The clean sweat taste of Dean’s skin under his tongue as he’d hungered for more and more. He’d wanted to strip Dean down to creamy bare skin and feast on every inch until his hunter was writhing and begging for relief.

He shuddered at the memory of Dean’s hand on his cock and realized he was painfully hard, rapidly cooling water dripping off the tip to splatter against the shower floor. With a self-loathing groan he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and stroked hard. It wouldn’t take much to get himself there, he knew. Castiel braced himself against the wall and drew his fist down tight, sliding it back up to twist around the leaking head. He brought himself off quickly, mind fixated on bright green eyes as he came hard, his head pounding once more as he watched the last of his spunk swirl away down the drain.

***

Dean was halfway through his second Red Eye when Charlie walked through the door of The Roadhouse. The espresso had effectively killed the last of his hangover, but he was starting to feel twitchy, eyes gritty and tired. He was also struggling not to get embarrassingly hard every time he shifted in his chair and felt the lingering soreness that reminded exactly how it came to be that he was so worn out.

Charlie pulled out the chair across from him and sat, ridiculous whipped cream topped mocha in her hand dripping with swirls of chocolate sauce. She placed it delicately on the table before her, staring down at it as if it were a work of art.

She looked up at him when he snorted at her expression and stuck out her tongue. “Shut up, Dean. The mocha here is practically a religious experience. One must _appreciate_ it, _savor_ it, not toss it back like whatever jet fuel you’re corroding your stomach lining with.”

Dean took a giant slurping sip just to watch her face scrunch up as she judged his beverage choices.

Charlie nearly sprayed him with her drink when he turned his head without thinking, revealing the massive hickey on his neck from where he’d tried to hide it with his jacket collar. She spluttered and pointed at it. “What the heckin’ crap is _that_ Dean?!” He didn’t blame her for her reaction; he was pretty damned embarrassed by the thing. Benny had taken what had been a respectable, reasonably sized love bite and sucked and worried at it until the original was obliterated beyond belief. His throat looked like he’d been savaged by a particularly amorous vampire.

He clapped his hand over it and went red down his toes.

“Yeah, about that.” He shifted uncomfortably.

Her eyes narrowed at him speculatively. “Was it Cas?” He stared at her, eyes wide with shock. She smirked.

He dropped his face into his hands with a groan of dismay. When he looked up again her expression was a blend of smug and curious. He shook his head. “It wasn’t Cas. Though really, not for lack of trying.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and waited for him to elaborate and he sighed. “He kissed me, we kissed, like the best, hottest fucking kiss of my entire life and then he threw on the brakes just as it was getting really good.” Dean shrugged, trying to play down how much that still stung, even with everything that happened afterward.

She winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dean, that must have sucked. Though the guy is practically a teacher, you know it’d be totally inappropriate, what with you all underage and jailbait-y.”

He rolled his eyes, so tired of hearing it, no matter how true it might be. “Yeah, that’s more or less what he said too, though he was way more British about it. Anyway. It happened, and I split, ended up at Purgatory.” His cheeks heated as he thought about the awkward initial attempt at conversation and the alcohol-fueled, uninhibited make out session in the men’s room that had followed much later.

She nodded. “And then?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I met a guy. Got drunk. And then...”

She planted both hands on the table and leaned in, a manic gleam in her eyes. “And then?!”

He sighed. “And then we had sex. I woke up at his apartment this morning, and this...” He gestured at his neck.

Charlie’s eyes were wide, but as they were drawn back to the giant purple bruise, she bit her lip, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “And that.”

**

For obvious reasons, Dean had no desire to train with Cas that afternoon and was content to just enjoy spending time with his friend. He and Charlie had finished their drinks and spent a pleasant hour chatting about everything and nothing and Dean felt a million times more relaxed after he’d gotten the events of the night before off his chest.

Then Dean’s phone went off unexpectedly. Dean blushed at a text from Benny and Charlie got excited all over again.

“Is that him?!” She whispered conspiratorially. He blushed harder and nodded, panicking internally over how to respond. When he took a minute too long in his indecision, the redhead got impatient and snatched the phone from his hand. Her eyes widened when she looked at the screen. “Ooooh ‘When can I see you again?’” She squealed. “Dean! You have to say something back!”

He grabbed for it with a yelp, redoubling his efforts when she made the decision for him and began tapping at the keyboard, fingers a lightning fast blur. She ducked and dodged, avoiding his reach with impressive agility despite her laser focus on his phone.

She jabbed triumphantly at the keys one final time and grinned at him before handing the phone back magnanimously. He was dreading to check to see the damage she’d done. He jumped when the phone went off again in his hand and he took a deep breath, thumbing the screen to open his messages.

He blinked and looked up at his friend in wide-eyed wonder. “I have a date tonight?”

She smiled at him gently, nodding. “Only if you want to, Dean. I mean, if you’re uncomfortable with it, you can always just tell him the truth; that I snatched your phone. But it really seems like you like him. Do you?”

He thought about it, biting at his lip. He’d meant it when he told Cas he was done waiting for the Watcher to come around, if he ever did. Taking the chance to see what might be possible with Benny was a healthier option than pining and gazing longingly over ancient texts. “Yeah, I think I could like him. If he’s interested in something more than a one night stand, then yeah.”

The smile on his face was cautiously excited, hopeful.

The gleam in his friend’s eye, however, filled him with panic even before she opened her mouth to say, “You know what this means, Winchester.” He shook his head, begging her silently not to say it. She gestured widely, fingers jazz-handing alarmingly. “Yes, Dean. It’s time for a first date makeover montage. I’ve had a playlist prepared for this for literally ever.”

He groaned in horror, wondering just what in hell he’d let Charlie talk him into.

***

Castiel glanced out the window for the tenth time in the past hour, a sinking feeling in his gut. He’d begun seriously doubting the cautious hope he’d felt that Dean would actually show up that afternoon for their weekly training session. It was going on four in the afternoon, well past their usual start time, and Dean had yet to make an appearance or call to give him an explanation for his absence. He wondered if he had any right to be irritated that his hunter was skipping out on him without an excuse. Dean had made his feelings toward Castiel explicitly clear last night when he’d slammed the door behind him with his curt ‘Fuck you, Cas.’

Did he have any hope of fixing this? What could he even say to Dean to express how truly sorry he was for his thoughtless behavior and the insensitive way he’d reacted to their kiss. He wondered how long it would take him to stop feeling guilty about either mistake. He wondered if he ever would. Dean was everything he wanted, he’d wanted that kiss and so much more; wanted it with every part of him. But Castiel knew from experience how badly things could go when a Watcher allowed himself to become romantically entangled with the hunter they were duty bound to train and protect. He didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if he acted on his infatuation and Dean ended up paying for his mistakes.

Castiel paced the floor, his mind split in indecision between the desire to race to his hunter’s side and beg forgiveness and the likely more wise choice of letting Dean have his space.

He was backing out of his driveway before he realized what he was doing.

***

Dean fidgeted slightly in the cab of Benny’s entirely gorgeous vintage pickup, trying not to be obvious about how overwhelmed he was feeling.

The whole day had been pretty overwhelming, actually. He’d just been trying to hold on with both hands and act like he knew what he was doing.

He’d only ever dated one other boy before, and they’d both wanted to be as discrete as possible, and so he was still feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing. Same sex dating wasn’t nearly as tolerated in the Midwestern towns he’d come of age in as it was in other, more progressive cities. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for the looks and whispers they were sure to get, but he also wasn’t going to hide from who he was; not any more.

He glanced across the bench seat to see Benny eyeing him appreciatively and felt his cheeks warm when the other boy winked before turning his eyes back to the road. Dean wiped his suddenly damp palms against the ridiculously expensive jeans he’d let Charlie talk him into buying.

His friend had taken to the idea of giving him a date night makeover with an infectious zeal, and true to her word, she really did have a playlist entitled “Dean’s Montage Music” cued up and ready to go the second he stepped out of the dressing room at the bafflingly trendy menswear shop she’d picked at the mall. She had sat on a bench in the back of the store, looking between two button downs that looked almost exactly alike when he appeared in the first of what had seemed like dozens of outfits she’d picked out. Her eyes narrowed at him critically and tapped a finger against her chin. He crossed his arms and scowled when she stuck out a hand and made a twirling motion. When she had seemed disinclined to let him off the hook, he’d heaved a long-suffering sigh before giving in and extending his arms outward and spun in a slow circle. When the next song on the playlist turned out to be Right Said Fred lamenting about his sexiness, Dean had known his suffering had only just begun.

As he surreptitiously checked his outfit again, he had to admit the end result was pretty spectacular, if decidedly hipsterish. His jeans were dark-washed, soft and slim fitting and the black tee he had on was a far cry from the ten-to-a-pack cotton ones he usually wore. The finishing touches were shiny brown leather boots and an olive green V-neck cardigan that was similar enough to his usual uniform of scuffed work boots and heavy canvas utility jacket. He had to give it to Charlie that she’d known not to take him too far out of his comfort zone in her effort to make him over. His date seemed to be into the effort, in any case.

His pulse sped up again as he was reminded of the mysterious date destination he was currently on the way to. Benny hadn’t given him any idea of where they were going, had just crooked that smile at him and told him to relax and enjoy the ride.

And wasn’t that a new experience. Dean had never been picked up at his front door for a date before. Bobby and Sam had given him endless shit for the whole thing, ribbing him the entire time he had waited restlessly by the door for Benny to show up. He knew they really didn’t mean any of it, but it had been beyond embarrassing nonetheless.

Dean looked a question in Benny’s direction as the truck rolled to a stop at the edge of a field ringed with tall shady trees. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but Benny grinned at him and reached into the back of the truck and pulled out an honest-to-God picnic basket. Dean’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

Benny cocked his head, eyes crinkling in amusement. “C’mon darlin’, you can help me lay out the blanket if you want.”

Dean watched as Benny slipped out of the truck and out of view, hesitating only for a moment before hopping out of the cab himself. He caught up to Benny at the back of the truck and grabbed at his arm to pull him to a stop. He pulled Benny in for a kiss, utterly charmed by the other boy’s thoughtfulness, and sighed happily when Benny’s lips parted beneath his to tease at his own with his tongue.

Benny chuckled softly when Dean made a complaining sound as he pulled back from the kiss before it could get heated. “Got all night sweetheart, there’s no rush.” Dean blushed and bit his lip.

Together they got the blanket laid out on the grass and Dean knelt across from Benny, watching with growing pleasure as he unpacked the well-stocked basket. The meal turned out to be perfectly stacked cold-cut sandwiches and potato chips and real glass bottles of classic Coca-Cola.

“You brought pie?!” Dean cried out in delight when Benny pulled out two fat slices of apple pie on a plate wrapped in plastic.

Benny laughed. “I _made_ pie, Dean.” He smirked when Dean practically moaned. “I take it you approve? I figured you’d be a pie man. Glad my instincts were right.”

Dean only just resisted tackling him to the blanket with how much he approved.

***

Castiel approached the front door of Bobby Singer’s house and felt distinctly apprehensive. He rang the doorbell and fiddled with his pocket watch as he waited. Would Dean even wish to see him, let alone talk to him?

The door opened with a creak of hinges and Bobby peered out at him from the dim doorway. “Castiel.” Bobby acknowledged him with a nod. “What’s up?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Is Dean home? I was hoping to speak to him.”

Bobby adjusted his cap on his head and looked uncomfortable. “Dean’s not here Castiel.”

Castiel frowned, he’d definitely noticed Dean’s beloved Impala in the lot out front when he’d pulled in. “Oh? Did he go out?”

Bobby opened his mouth and then shut it again without speaking, as if unsure if he should reveal Dean’s whereabouts. Just as Castiel was becoming impatient, Dean’s brother Sam passed by the open door with an armful of snacks and schoolbooks. He barely looked up from the open book on top of the haphazard pile to say “Dean’s on a date.” and Castiel felt his heart stop in his chest.

He looked to Bobby for confirmation and he froze at the awkward way the older hunter avoided his eyes. “Dean is...on a...” He could barely even think the words.

Sam had turned his attention more fully on Castiel with a curious expression. “A date.” He said, as if it was of little importance to Castiel, and for all the boy knew, it wasn’t. “With a guy named Benny. He’s funny. And he has a cool car.” Sam scowled slightly when Bobby pushed him out of the doorway with a grunt of exasperation.

Castiel cleared his throat again, once, twice before he could find his voice again. “Yes, I see.” He attempted to sound calm and fought down an overwhelming tidal wave of jealousy. “In that case, please let Dean know I wish to speak to him at his earliest convenience, and I’ll wish the both of you a pleasant evening.” He turned to leave when Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Castiel. It ain’t really my style to meddle, but whatever’s goin’ on between you and Dean? Might be best if you give him some time to get over whatever the two of you fought about.” Bobby sounded pained but determined and Castiel flushed. “Dean wouldn’t tell me nothin’ when he came home today, but somethin’ was clearly bothering him.”

Castiel took a breath and nodded briskly. He should have known it was a mistake to come here tonight, knew Dean needed time. But he never would have thought Dean would go running from him and straight into the arms of another man. He stifled another flare of jealousy and bid Bobby farewell, only just managing not to run for his car in his desire to make his escape. 

***

Dean pulled back from Benny’s lips, still tasting the sweet flavor of the apples and the warm spice of the cinnamon on his tongue as they’d traded soft, lazy kisses spread out on the blanket with Dean straddling Benny. He hovered for a moment, just looking down at the older boy beneath him, feeling contentment down to his toes.

Benny stared back at him raptly, eyes hot and dark, gaze drawn to Dean’s kiss-swollen mouth more than once. He sighed and his lips crooked softly as he brought up a hand to cup Dean’s cheek. “Alright there darlin’?”

Dean nodded as he shifted to lie more fully against Benny, trying not to squirm as he felt a distinct hardness pressed against his ass. Benny didn’t seem to be in any rush to move things beyond making out and Dean was surprised to realize that he was happy to let Benny lead, for once enjoying the slow burn of arousal without feeling the need to go faster.

Benny stroked a wide hand down his spine and Dean practically purred. “This is just...nice. Not what I was expecting at all. I’ve never been on a date with anyone I’ve had a one night stand with before.” He played with the open collar of Benny’s blue button down as he spoke, grateful for the lack of eye contact.

Benny hummed, the sound rumbling through his chest to vibrate pleasantly against Dean’s cheek. He tilted Dean’s head up with a hand to look down into his face. “You know it doesn’t have to be just one night, Dean. I was disappointed to wake up to find you gone this mornin’, but then I found your number in my phone and I hoped maybe you didn’t want it to be just one night either. Was I right, sweetheart?”

Dean flushed at the soft intensity in Benny’s eyes. “I-“ He inhaled deeply. “Yeah, Benny. I think you were right.” He bit his lip and felt his bones turn to water at the way Benny’s blue eyes flared.

A calloused thumb dragged across his lower lip as Benny pulled him back in for a blistering kiss, whispering heatedly against his mouth when he let Dean surface for air. “Good. That’s real good, darlin’.”

***

The week following their disastrous kiss crawled by with interminable slowness, crammed full of awkward silences and stilted conversations. Castiel’s jealousy burned him constantly, leaving him irritable and short of temper every time he caught sight of the healing mark on Dean’s throat. He was certain that the mark he had sucked into the smooth skin hadn’t been nearly as large when Dean had stormed out Friday night, leading him to the conclusion that it had to have been the work of the boy Dean had taken to his bed, and it sent a clear message that Castiel’s claim had been obliterated. Despite knowing full well that he had no right to want to keep Dean for himself when he had told the boy more than once that he was unwilling to pursue the attraction between them, it didn’t help. In his heart, Dean was _his_ no matter what he tried to tell himself.

The clock above his desk ticked loudly, the minute hand slowly inching its way toward the four o’clock hour and Castiel sighed and got to his feet to dismiss Dean from his studies and remind him that Castiel would be expecting him the next day for their training session. He had given Dean a pass for missing their last session out of guilt, but he would not tolerate another absence; they both had jobs to do here.

As he stepped through the doorway however, he stopped short at the sight of Dean smiling down at his mobile phone, obviously texting instead of focusing on his studies. Dean had been distracted all week long, and Castiel had had enough. He cleared his throat sharply and swallowed an unpleasant smile when Dean jumped in his chair and shoved the phone out of sight into his pocket.

“Dean, I’m disappointed. This time is for study, not for socializing with your...friends.” He said nastily, feeling his ire rising as Dean’s face turned defensive instead of contrite.

“You know what, Cas?” Dean pushed back from the table to stand, shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides. “Screw you.”

Castiel ground his teeth and fought not to grab the hunter by his lapels and shove him up against the wall and do exactly that. The boy had a fucking bloody cheek.

Dean stomped over, boots eating up the searing space between them and got up into Castiel’s face. “I mean it, Cas. My personal life is _none_ of your business.” He hissed.

Castiel growled and before he knew what he was doing he had Dean by the hair, yanking his head back to expose the yellowed remnants of the love bite on his neck. “If it’s none of my business, you should think twice before shoving it in my face day after day, Dean.” Dean struggled against his hand and he felt a sickening thrill of lust as he held the boy in place. “No matter what is or isn’t between us, I am your Watcher and you _will_ show me respect!”

Dean tore himself free from his grasp and held himself stiffly, shaking hands clenching and unclenching in anger. “I don’t know where you get off being possessive now. _You_ were the one that pushed _me_ away. You _hurt_ me, Cas. You don’t get to have a say in how I move on, or how.”

Castiel deflated in an instant; his anger draining away as quickly as it had come on, guilt and pain lashing through him as Dean raced from the library without even gathering his belongings, so eager was he to get away from him.

***

Dean sat behind the wheel of the Impala shaking, a wave of panic like he hadn’t felt in months edging out his anger, leaving him gasping on the verge of hyperventilation.

God, the way Cas had grabbed him, the possessive anger in his eyes as he’d spat jealous accusations at him had triggered painful, humiliating memories that weren’t old enough by far. He’d run like a coward from the library, but he couldn’t have stayed there for another second.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed with trembling fingers, trying desperately to get his breathing under control as he listened to it ringing.

“Dean? Darlin’ what’s wrong?” Benny’s voice crackled over the speaker.

Dean closed his eyes in relief. “ _Benny_. God, Benny. I need to see you, please.”

“I can be at my place in twenty, sweetheart. Can you meet me there? Can you drive?” Dean made a sound in the affirmative. “Good. Let me get my things together and let my manager know where I’m goin’ and then I’m all yours sweetheart. Okay?” Benny’s voice was rough and soothing.

Dean’s head fell back against the headrest and he sighed. “Yeah...yeah. Thanks, Benny.” He thumbed the phone off and cranked the Impala to life.

**

Benny’s bed was warm, the boy holding him tightly warmer still, and Dean finally began to feel normal again as thick fingers carded gently through his hair. He shifted in Benny’s arms, rubbing his cheek against the firm chest. He looked up at Benny, trying not to feel embarrassed at having his...boyfriend...see him so weak and vulnerable.

Benny smiled down at him, expression open and soft. “Welcome back, darlin’. You had me worried there for a minute.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “You wanna talk about it?”

Dean bit his lip and nodded. If he and Benny were going to try to do something real here, he probably needed to know anyway. “I got into a fight with...someone. Over you, I guess. He was angry, jealous I think.” He felt Benny go still beneath him and he rushed to continue. “I told him he didn’t have the right to be jealous, not anymore. If there was anything between us before, it’s so beyond over, I promise.” He glanced up to see Benny with a thoughtful frown on his face.

“This the guy you were upset over that night when we met at the bar?” He asked quietly.

Dean nodded and picked at Benny’s shirt. “Like I said though, it’s over.”

“Is that what made you upset today, Dean? Him being jealous?” If Benny was bothered by what he’d said, he was keeping it to himself for now.

Dean sighed. “Partly, I guess. It was more the way he acted, the things he said. It brought up...bad memories. There was someone at my old school that hurt me pretty bad a while ago. I haven’t had a panic attack like that in a long time.”

Benny stroked a hand comfortingly up and down his spine and waited for him to talk.

*

Dean had been as close to happy as he could possibly get. He and Sam had been in the same rented house for almost a whole school year and their dad was even home more often than he wasn’t. Dean had friends, his grades were improving, and he’d even kind of started dating. His friend Rhonda had set him up with a friend of hers from another school, Aaron, a senior who understood Dean’s fear of being openly bisexual in a town like his. When they went out, Aaron always made sure they chose a place way out of town to avoid running into anyone that might recognize them.

One night they hadn’t been as careful as they usually were, and that’s where Dean’s trouble had begun.

He’d been in the locker room after gym class a few days later, waiting until the rest of the guys were gone to shower. He always waited, wanting to avoid the stares and comments that the other boys would no doubt have if they saw the marks on his body either from hunting or from a round or two of deliciously rough sex with Aaron. He had bruises on his hips from Aaron’s hands and bite marks scattered across his chest that day and he was fingering them gently as the water poured over him, getting lost in the memory of how they’d gotten there.

He heard the bang of a locker slamming shut and jerked his hands away as his eyes snapped open to find another boy standing there with his face twisted in a sneer.

“I knew you were a fag, Winchester, but I would have never guessed you were the bitch. Didn’t think that little Jew queer had it in him.” The older boy’s voice echoed off the tiles.

Dean felt himself go red in anger and humiliation, but Michael took him utterly by surprise as he stepped into Dean’s cubicle and crowded him into the corner. He was naked and it was damned hard to fight someone when you’re naked. But he tried; Dean was broader in the shoulders and huskier than the other boy, but Michael was taller.

Dean also would never have expected a guy who had just called him a fag with such disdain to grab his dick.

Michael sneered down at him and spat. “I bet your daddy doesn’t know how much you love getting fucked in the ass. I wonder what he’d say if he found out.” Dean struggled in the other boy’s grip, scrabbling as he tried to throw a punch, but the fist around him dug fingers in hard and squeezed and he hunched around the pain before it could land. God, he didn’t want to think about how his dad would react if he found out about Aaron.

Michael laughed unpleasantly and released him, shoving him hard against the tile. “I could make your life a living hell if I wanted to, you know that right?” Dean knew he was telling the truth. Michael was the football captain, Lawrence High’s golden boy. They’d believe anything he said, whether it was true or not. “You remember that.”

Michael was gone before Dean could even think about taking another breath and he slid to the shower floor in a heap.

*

Michael had terrorized Dean for months. Mostly he just threatened him, leaving him paranoid and constantly looking over his shoulder. For all that he bullied and insulted Dean for liking guys, he seemed most angry about what was obviously his own reluctant attraction. He became almost possessive of Dean’s attention, to the point that he had threatened to out Dean if he found out he was dating anyone.

As the school year went on his grades plummeted, he was getting into fights constantly, and he isolated himself from everyone he cared about. His friends had noticed the changes in him, but when they asked him if he was okay, he lied and said things were just stressful at home.

Inevitably, someone caught on to the reason behind Michael’s constant harassment of Dean and the rumor spread like wildfire around the school. Michael, refusing to believe that it hadn’t been Dean that had started the rumor, made him pay for the damage to his reputation with his fists.

Dean woke up the next day in the hospital. His nose was broken and he had a black eye that was so bad it was swollen shut for a week, along with three broken ribs and a punctured lung. The doctors had told him that he was lucky to be alive. He had been found in a storage room unconscious, beaten and bleeding badly from multiple wounds to his face and body.

Not one person in Lawrence would believe his side of the story.

When his dad had found out what had happened, he’d been furious, but to Dean’s surprise his fury was for what had happened _to_ Dean instead of anything Dean had been accused of doing. Seeing tears in his father’s eyes when Dean had admitted that he’d been terrified of what John would think of him if he found out he was bisexual had rocked Dean’s world to the core.

They had left Lawrence soon after, and only a few short months after that he and Sam had been shipped off to Bobby’s and his dad was dead.

*

Dean was crying quietly by the time he was finished telling his story and Benny was holding onto him tight, murmuring soothing words and sounds. He let Dean hide his face for a moment to collect himself before he gently raised Dean’s face to his own. Dean inhaled sharply when he was pulled in for a kiss.

Benny swiped at the damp streaks on his face and pressed their foreheads together. “Thank you for tellin’ me, sweetheart. I’m so sorry that you went through all that, and that you had to relive it again today.” He kissed Dean again, softly. “How can I help you, Dean? What would make you feel better right now?”

Dean smiled shakily. “I do kind of feel better already. But honestly? I just want you to touch me right now. Remind me that I don’t belong to him anymore.”

Benny’s grip tightened on him as he rolled them, spreading Dean out beneath his big, comforting body. He cupped Dean’s face in his hands as he looked at him closely. “You never did belong to him, Dean. A bastard like that would have never been worthy of you.”

Dean swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut at the intensity of Benny’s certainty. He wrapped his arms around Benny’s shoulders as lips trailed down his jaw to lay a tender kiss against his throat where his pulse was racing.

Benny hummed against his skin as he slipped a knee between Dean’s thighs to press their bodies together tightly. Dean’s breath caught at the feeling of the hardness growing against his hip and rolled his hips up to feel the friction. Benny’s fingertips left trails of heat down his sides and slid beneath his t-shirt, making him shiver as they touched his bare skin. Lips brushed over his face, his mouth, before Benny whispered, “Will you let me take care of you, Dean?”

Dean swallowed a rush of emotion at the gentle words and nodded. “God, please Benny, yes.”

***

Castiel felt absolutely wretched. He’d watched Dean walk away from him, hating him, more times than he thought he knew how to bear. How was it that he continued to hurt the ones he care for, the ones that he was meant to teach and protect. He scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing dearly that he kept a bottle of something stronger than tea in his office, but he knew that if he started drinking now that he wouldn’t be able to stop.

He reached for the phone, dialing the number from memory as he did so. He chewed at his chapped lips as he waited for the call to connect.

At the sound of his closest friend’s plummy voice over the line, Castiel felt something tight and hot in his chest begin to unravel. “Cassie! How wonderful to hear from you, even though the hour is dreadfully improper. I feel like it’s been absolutely ages. How is America treating you?”

Castiel sighed.

**

He hung up the phone feeling marginally better than he had before. Balthazar, as usual had seen directly to the heart of his issues and had bluntly advised him to quit sulking for England and get over himself. Castiel had even been laughing reluctantly at one of Balthazar’s wilder tales of life within the hallowed halls of the Watcher’s Council and he was grateful to his friend for it.

He opened his eyes at the sound of an abrupt knock at the door to his office, confused to see Charlie Bradbury standing in his doorway so late, a dark look on her normally cheerful face. He stood, warning bells ringing like klaxons in his mind.

“Miss Bradbury? What can I do for you?” He asked cautiously.

She stepped into the office, energy crackling off of her so palpable he could almost imagine her bright red hair sparking dangerously with static electricity. He held his ground despite an instinctive desire to back away slowly. When she drew closer he only just saw her clenched fist as she ratcheted it back and smashed it into his jaw with a surprising force that toppled him onto his arse.

He stared up at her from the floor in shock. “What in the hell was that for?!” He yelped.

Charlie scowled down at him. “Dean told me what happened you self-righteous prick.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if daring him to deny it.

He frowned, irritation rising. “Miss Bradbury, this is _entirely_ inappropriate. Anything that may have happened between Dean and I is between the two of us, not open to speculation from you lot.” Castiel got to his feet slowly.

She snorted incredulously. “Right. It’s none of my business when some holier-than-thou British asshole who’s supposed to be my best friend’s mentor gets jealous and possessive enough to trigger said bestie into having a panic attack. Got it.” Castiel gaped at her and she spun on her heel to leave; pausing in the doorway long enough to fire her parting shot.

“You broke his heart, Cas. If you had talked to him about whatever was going on between you instead of treating him like a child, you might have had a chance of fixing this. But you underestimated him, like everyone does, and I hope it eats you alive.”

***

The cafeteria was loud and busy as Dean navigated his way through with his tray to find a free table. Jo and Charlie followed behind him, setting their trays down as they sat. Jo glanced around, her silverware clenched in her fist.

“This is weird. It sucks in here.” She scowled at Dean. “Why can’t we go to the library like we always do?”

Charlie elbowed the blonde before Dean could answer. “A change of scenery is healthy, Jo. Get over it. Eat your lunch.” She shoved a forkful of iceberg lettuce pretending to be salad into her mouth as if to lead by example. “Besides, it’s not like we didn’t eat in here every day up until a few months ago.”

Jo scowled hard and turned back to Dean. “You and Cas are being weird again aren’t you?”

Dean reddened. “What? No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s pissed at me ‘cause I _maybe_ blew off training last weekend after the whole demon attack and he’s being all British about it. Just don’t feel like dealing with that today is all.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “ _You_ blew off training? Dean, that’s like your favorite part of the week.” She frowned and then peered at Charlie suspiciously. “Wait. _You-_ " She jabbed a finger at Charlie. “Blew _me_ off on Saturday to go to the mall for some mysterious reason. We’re you guys hanging out together without me?” Jo pouted.

Dean and Charlie exchanged a glance. Dean shrugged; it wasn’t like he could hide that he was dating Benny from one of his best friends forever. “Sorry, Jo. Charlie was helping me...get ready for something.” He hedged, unsure of how to say it.

Jo looked between them. “Get ready for _what_?”

“A date, Jo. Dean had a date Saturday night.” Charlie crossed her arms and looked at the blonde evenly.

Jo crossed her arms right back, glaring. “A date with who? Meg?”

Dean choked on an incredulous laugh. “Oh, hell no. Never in a million years.”

Jo’s expression hadn’t changed in the least. “Then _who_ , Dean? How come you didn’t tell me about it? Why are you two being so secretive?” He thought he could detect the tiniest thread of genuine hurt in her tone and he felt terrible.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath; it was now or never. “I went out with a...guy. His name’s Benny.”

Jo’s mouth gaped open for a full thirty seconds before she threw her head and laughed. “Nice one, Dean.”

Charlie slapped at Jo’s shoulder until she stopped laughing. “It’s true, Jo. Your heteronormativity is showing its ass.” She scowled and Dean sympathized.

Jo turned to him, doubt still on her face. “Dean?”

He sighed. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“So you’re what? Gay now?” She yelped when Charlie smacked her again, scowling at the redhead and rubbing at her arm.

He snorted. “I’m bisexual, Jo, and it’s not exactly a new development, I just don’t really advertise it.” He willed her desperately not to make a big deal over it.

She frowned briefly before rolling her eyes. “Ok, fine. But the next time I find out you guys hung out without me, I’m kicking your asses. We’re supposed to be a _team_ you jerks.”

***  
The next afternoon found Castiel even more miserable than before. A headache pounded from somewhere behind his eyes and his jaw ached where Charlie’s punch had landed far more solidly than he would have ever expected. He’d fallen asleep at his desk the night before atop of a pile of research and he’d been increasingly uncomfortable as the day had gone on in yesterday’s rumpled shirt, his tie pulled loose and possibly even backwards. His hair was a mess from constantly running his fingers through it and his face unshaven and scratchy.

He hunched over his journal, scrawling notes that were likely entirely incoherent. His mind spun in circles, unable to focus on any one thing for long before thoughts of Dean and their altercation the day rose to the surface.

The things that Charlie had said haunted him. Was it possible she was exaggerating? Teenagers did tend to list toward melodrama, but Dean had seemed genuinely distressed when he’d run from the library. Castiel had attributed that to the unfortunately personal nature of their fight, but perhaps his distress had a more insidious cause Castiel was unaware of. He despaired to think he’d caused Dean further pain.

He was lost in his thoughts when a hesitant knock sounded from the doorway and he blinked up to see Dean framed there. The boy appeared nervous but his face was set in determined lines.

“Dean.” He rasped hoarsely.

Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Hey Cas. I-uh...must have left my stuff here yesterday, I thought you might have it in your office.” He shuffled, hands stuffed in his back pockets in an affectedly casual stance.

Castiel searched his face, wondering what the best approach was here. He dearly wanted to alleviate his guilt and beg for Dean’s forgiveness but his instincts were warning him to be cautious, let Dean set the tone of their interaction today.

“Yes.” Castiel cleared his throat. “It’s just here,” He swiveled in his chair to gesture toward the table he’d laid Dean’s bag on.

He heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath and he realized the bruise on his jaw was on display. He touched his fingers to the hot, still tender patch of skin and winced. Dean’s footsteps sounded as he crossed the threshold into Castiel’s office.

“Cas? What happened to you? Was there a hunt last night?” Dean’s obvious concern filled him with shame.

He flushed. “Ah, no. Miss Bradbury paid me a visit yesterday evening and left me with a memento.” He glanced up to see Dean’s face morph with surprise.

“Charlie did that?” Castiel could see his hunter trying not to appear impressed before his eyebrows drew down in a frown. “Did she- What did she say to you?”

“She told me that I hurt you more than I realized.” Castiel struggled not to look away. He owed Dean that at least. “Dean, please allow me to apologize most sincerely. I have no excuse for my behavior, for the way I treated you.”

Dean sighed. “Cas- I get that you’re sorry. I even believe you; you don’t need to convince me. I do wish we could have talked about things before they got so messed up, but maybe we both made a mistake trying to ignore things until they blew up.” He dragged a hand through his hair and shifted uneasily. “I’ll probably always feel something when it comes to you, but-” Castiel looked up at Dean when the boy paused to take a steadying breath. “I meant it when I said I’m moving on. I’m sort of with someone now and I think there could really be something there.” Dean’s eyes seemed to beg him to understand and despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, Castiel knew what he needed to say.

He schooled his features carefully, trying to find some measure of solace in the mask of cool professionalism that hid the way he could feel his hopeful heart begin to crack in two. “I understand Dean. The rules regarding Watcher-hunter interactions are there for a reason, and I apologize for allowing myself to forget them in the first place. You can be assured that it will not happen again.” Castiel said solemnly. 

His hunter coughed, relief clear on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh- Thanks, Cas. So can we please get back to working together again? I’m sure there’s plenty of studying to do, right?”

Castiel forced himself to smile at Dean’s obvious attempt to change the subject. “Of course, Dean. I believe we were on the subject of wendigoes.”


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warning for- vampires, blood, violence, teenage heartbreak

The days passed with Dean and Cas navigating their way within their awkward détente with cautious distance. Dean studied while his Watcher occupied himself in his office and they resumed their training sessions, though they were noticeably less physical in a one-on-one sense. And although practicing with the dummy Cas had rigged together worked well enough for training, Dean was starting to get antsy for a good old fashioned monster hunt to release some of his tension.

At least they had the hunt for Yellow Eyes to focus on for the moment. They were investigating leads as best as they could and Ash was practically living behind his computer running a slew of programs intent on tracking anything that could reveal the demon’s movements or whereabouts.

That afternoon, Dean was dutifully finishing up his essay on wendigo lore when Ash ambled into the library, laptop under his arm and a sheaf of crumpled papers in his hand. The boy flopped into the chair across from Dean, opened the computer and began typing furiously without as much as a hello.

Dean exchanged a bemused look with Cas as the man appeared in the doorway of his office, flushing when the eye contact lingered just a touch too long. Cas cleared his throat as he pulled his glasses off to clean them.

“Good afternoon, Ash.” He greeted the other boy, settling the frames back onto his face. “Have there been any developments?”

When Ash failed to respond, Dean tossed a wadded up piece of scrap paper in his direction, beaning him in the center of his forehead. Ash looked up with a grunt of surprise.

“Oh hey amigos. Did y’all say something?” The boy blinked at them.

Dean snorted. Ash’s single-mindedness when he was on the case was both a gift and a curse to their efforts sometimes.

“Cas wanted to know if you found anything on Yellow Eyes yet.” Dean said.

Ash scratched at the sparse hairs on his chin that were desperately trying to be a goatee and consulted his papers. “I ran every program I could think of or create myself, and there’s nothing. Nothing.” The other boy appeared mortally offended by that fact.

Dean frowned. He couldn’t believe that after everything the demon had done to get Dean’s attention, to try to get _him_ that he’d just up and disappear without even a hint of a threat. Something definitely didn’t feel right with that scenario.

Ash shuffled his papers again and peered at his screen as if the results would change just through his determination to make it so. “Yeah, so, the weird thing is, not only are there no signs of ol’ Yella, there are no signs of _any_ demons at all. It’s almost impossible for most places to be completely free of omens of any kind, but for a place crawling with the supernatural like Sioux Falls? Even with no demons anywhere there should be _something_. It’s like there’s some kind of wack-ass static jamming all the frequencies. It’s too quiet out there.”

Dean could practically feel Cas’ curiosity as he hovered somewhere behind his shoulder. He glanced back at his Watcher to see his forehead creased in thought. “How odd. The total lack of signs of the demonic is almost as much of sign as it appears not to be.” Cas muttered half to himself.

Dean huffed. “So _nothing_? We’re stuck here sitting on our asses yet again?” He crossed his arms sullenly and slid down into his chair. He hated it when cases stalled out, and this thing with Yellow Eyes was anything but just a case.

Ash sucked his teeth. “Well, maybe not nothing. It probably ain’t nothing but a computer error, but for lack of anything else to do, it might be worth checking out.” He clicked and typed in silence for a moment as Dean waited for him to continue. “So I’ve been tracking anything even remotely weird since before the attack on the school and I started seeing a pattern of inconsistencies in the inventory logs from when the hospital gets deliveries from the blood bank. It’s not much of a pattern, but every couple of weeks the logs are short by about a dozen bags or so, sometimes less. Probably about as much as a single cooler would hold.”

Dean was interested despite the fact that it more than likely had nothing at all to do with Yellow Eyes. He just really needed a hunt right now, even if it ended up being little more than reconnaissance. He turned to Cas. “Do you know of any kind of creature that would need to steal blood? I mean, things that use blood don’t usually have any issue with killing people for it.”

Cas was heading for the bookshelves, his focus already a million miles away. “Nothing I’ve ever heard of, Dean. Possibly a vampire?” His voice came muffled as he crouched to look at a low shelf, books starting to pile in his arms. “Hmm. Yes, this one.” He murmured as he scanned the title of the book in his hand. He glanced up at Dean distractedly. “I’ll consult the texts, but in the meantime Dean, the pattern will need to be investigated. You’ll stake out the next delivery and make note of any irregularities.”

Dean grinned fondly to see Cas back in Watcher mode. It was good. It felt familiar; the awkwardness between them almost seemed to be forgotten.

He put on a faux pout. “Gee Cas, you could at least say please when you’re doling out the orders.”

Cas whipped his head around. “O-of course, Dean. I certainly didn’t intend- That is it was implied-“ Dean’s lips twitched as the Watcher stammered and he fought not to laugh. “Dean, if it is convenient to you, please investigate the-“ Cas ground to a stop when Dean couldn’t hold it in any longer and laughed. “Yes, Mr. Winchester, very amusing.” Cas seemed more amused than irritated and Dean knew then they’d be okay.

“Sorry, Cas, couldn’t help myself. Yeah, I’ll check it out.” He smiled at Cas before turning back to Ash, who was all but ignoring them. “Got any idea when the next delivery is scheduled to be hit?”

Ash pulled up a timetable and zoomed in. “Looks like the next one should be Friday.” The other boy nodded to himself and then Dean.

Dean rubbed his hands together and grinned, anticipation lifting his spirits even higher. Friday night couldn’t come soon enough.

**

Thursday night found Dean cuddled up on the couch with Benny watching old movies on Benny’s ancient TV set, stretched out between the older boy’s legs with his back pressed against Benny’s chest. Benny’s arms draped around Dean, holding him comfortably snug. Dean’s fingers played up and down the furred length of Benny’s arm, leaving faint trails of his own body heat behind. Benny’s skin was cool to the touch tonight and Dean was enjoying the unique tactile experience. Though it wasn’t exactly unusual for Benny, who was deliciously warm as often as he wasn’t, Dean couldn’t help feeling curious sometimes.

He bit his lip and tugged absentmindedly at the hair on Benny’s thick forearm. Benny chuckled softly and Dean shivered when he nuzzled behind his ear.

“Somethin’ on your mind darlin’?” Benny murmured.

Dean sighed in pleasure at the sensation. “Hmm yeah.” He tilted his head to the side to give Benny better access to the spot on Dean’s neck he seemed to favor. “But I suddenly can’t remember what.” He felt Benny’s smile against his skin and gladly gave up coherent thought as he was licked and sucked into bliss. 

**

By 10:45 on Friday night Dean was feeling restless. So far his much anticipated stakeout had been entirely boring. He’d already drained his thermos of coffee and all that was left of his microwaved burrito was the crumpled wrapper tossed into the backseat. He had a perfect view of the hospital’s loading docks, but other than the occasional hospital employee ducking out for a smoke, there’d been nothing to see. He glanced at his watch again.

Just as he was contemplating if it was worth risking the glow of his phone screen revealing his location to play a game to pass the time, an unmarked white delivery van pulled up to the loading area. Dean scanned the alley carefully as two men in white scrubs began unloading coolers from the back of it.

He felt his focus sharpen as he saw a flicker of a shadow down the alley. A figure in a baggy black coat and a black cap pulled low to hide its face crept into view as the deliverymen left the van unattended to take a load of coolers into the hospital. In a blur of movement, the figure climbed into the van and reemerged with a cooler of blood in its hand. It was halfway down the alley again before Dean could even think about moving.

“Son of a _bitch_.” He cursed as the door of the Impala creaked loudly when he threw it open to give chase.

He tore down the alley, throwing himself around a corner where he’d seen a flash of black wool. He put on a burst of speed when he heard the slamming of a car door and burst out of the mouth of the alley just in time to gape in shock at the sight of Benny’s blue truck pulling away from the curb to disappear down the street.

**

Dean pounded on Benny’s door, barely resisting the urge to kick the door in. The door swung open on Benny, damned black fisherman’s cap still on his head and Dean’s mind went blank. He’d almost tried to convince himself that he’d imagined Benny’s truck, but the evidence was undeniable.

He grabbed Benny by the lapels of his coat and shoved him through the door and into a wall, hunting knife unsheathed and pressed against his throat.

“Dean what the hell?” Benny shouted in surprise.

“You want to tell me why I just watched my boyfriend steal blood bags out of a van?”

Benny went still as stone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean.”

Dean glared. “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me your fucking _teeth_ you vampire bastard.” He snarled, pushing the knife blade tighter against Benny’s skin, a thin line of dark blood beading beneath it.

“Dean, I’m not-“ Benny grunted as Dean punched him in the stomach. He sighed. “Alright, fine. Just remember darlin’, you asked.” Without taking his eyes from Dean’s, he stretched his mouth open and as Dean watched a full set of needle sharp fangs descended with a snick.

Dean sucked in a breath. That mouth had been on him, on his throat so many times. It was almost funny how oblivious he’d been, and didn’t that just piss him off more than anything.

“Give me one goddamn reason why I shouldn’t just kill you right now.” He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Benny laughed, entirely too calmly for a vampire with a razor sharp blade held at their throat. “’Cause you love me?” He laughed again, but wearily this time. “Alright, maybe that’s too much to ask. No, Dean. You’ll kill me if you think you have to, I accept that; but I don’t kill people, not anymore, not for a long time. That’s why I take the blood.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Did Benny really think he’d fall for all that Twilight crap?

Benny huffed. “I know you’ve noticed that I’m cold half the time, Dean, why do you think that is? It’s ‘cause I never feed, not really, just enough not to starve. I take blood from the trucks when I can, animal blood when I can’t. I drink blood, not people Dean. I may be a monster but I’m not a killer.” Benny’s gaze was steady on his, and Dean’s certainty wavered.

He stepped away from Benny, crossing his arms as he fought with himself. “So you’re what, a good vampire? Helping the helpless and suffering in broody silence?” He asked sarcastically.

Benny laughed again and Dean wanted to punch him in his face. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘good’, but I ain’t bad. I’ve done what I had to do to survive, Dean.” Benny’s pale blue eyes were solemn.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his knife carelessly back into the sheath. “Christ, Benny. I can’t deal with this right now.” What the hell was he supposed to tell Cas when he asked for a report on tonight’s hunt?

He took a step backwards, and then another, and didn’t stop until he was far enough away that he thought he could start to breathe again.

**

Dean sat slumped against the foot of Charlie’s bed, staring up at the ceiling as his friends gaped at him openmouthed and silent.

“Holy crap.” Said Charlie.

Dean sighed. “I know.”

“Holy _crap_.” Said Jo.

Dean dropped his face in his hands. “I know.” He looked up at his friends. “What am I gonna do now?”

Charlie opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Can a vampire ever be a good person? Couldn’t it happen?” She asked.

Dean sighed again. “According to the lore a vampire isn’t really a person at all. It may have some of the aspects of the person it took over, but it’s a monster at its core, there’s no halfway there.”

Charlie looked distressed. “So I take it that’s a no.”

Dean covered his face with a groan. “I don’t get it. He was good to me. Was it some long con?” Dean’s eyes popped open with a horrible thought. “Oh god, what if he’s working with Yellow Eyes?”

His friends matched his look of horror.

“Ugh.” He said with feeling.

Jo cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Alright, uh- you clearly have a problem here. Let’s take a minute to think about this calmly and objectively. Benny’s a vampire. You’re a hunter. I think it’s obvious what you have to do.” She squirmed when Charlie glared daggers at her.

Dean said nothing. She wasn’t making any points that hadn’t crossed his own mind a million times.

“Look, I know you have feelings for this guy, but it’s not like you’re in love with him, right?” She asked.

Dean went red and looked away.

Jo screeched. “You’re in love with a vampire?! Are you freaking out of your mind?”

Dean groaned again and face planted onto Charlie’s Star War’s comforter.

God his life was _weird_.

****

Benny sat with his back to the wall, running his hands through his hair just trying to keep himself from going after Dean. The boy was obviously a hunter, and if Dean decided he needed to kill him, Benny wasn’t going to run headfirst into his own demise. Dean would come to him eventually, probably best not to push and end up face to face with the business end of a machete.

He started when a knock sounded at his door. He was up from the floor and throwing the door open before he could think to be cautious.

Benny inhaled sharply at the dark haired vampire smiling in his doorway.

“What are you doin’ here Andrea?” He said gruffly.

She pushed into his space for a moment and then past him into his apartment. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it Benny?” She took in the room with a disdainful eye. “The Old Man wants you back. I want you back. You belong with us, and you know it.” She smiled at him seductively.

“The Old Man can go to hell. I’m not one of you anymore, and I never will be again.” He said hotly.

She smirked and crossed to his refrigerator, hooking one red-tipped finger into the handle and tugged it open. She poked at the fresh bags of blood stacked on the top shelf next to a six pack of beer. “You’re not exactly living off gumbo anymore, Benny.” She closed the door with a bang. “You and I both know what you’re really hungry for, what you need.” Andrea stepped to him and laid a hand on his face, her nails digging in painfully when he tried to pull away. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s what we _are_.” She purred the last into his ear.

Benny’s anger sparked through his veins, bright and hot like blood lust and he shoved her away with both hands, making her stumble back against the kitchen table.

It only made her smirk widely, the tip of her tongue extending to wet her lips. “Mm. You can only suppress your real nature for so long _agapi mu_. I can feel it burning up inside you.” She sauntered to the still open door, slipping out into the hallway as he seethed. “I hope I’m there when it explodes.”

****

Castiel struggled with the wobbling stack of books in his arms as he made his way back to the already book strewn table where his hunter was buried voluntarily in research. It was curious; while Dean had never exactly shied away from assisting with research while on a case, he’d never seen the boy so absorbed in one topic the way Dean had been this week. Dean had reported the events of Friday evening’s patrol, telling Castiel that he’d witnessed the theft from the delivery van but he’d seemed somewhat less than forthcoming with details about the thief itself.

The stack began to topple as he set it down and he scrambled to catch it. Dean’s hand covered his own as he jumped up to assist, warm and calloused. Castiel enjoyed the blush on the hunter’s face for a moment before steadying the books and slipping his hand free without comment. Dean cleared his throat and returned to his seat. He flipped a page and fiddled with his pen before looking up at Castiel.

“Cas? Do you think a vampire could ever be good?” The boy asked hesitantly.

Castiel frowned thoughtfully. “Good in what way, Dean?”

“Good like, could a vampire stop killing? Like could they choose not to kill people?”

Castiel considered it. “There’s nothing in the lore to suggest that a vampire can be anything but a vicious, violent animal, but I suppose in theory it might be possible.” He glanced at the book Dean was reading, at the others spread around him. “I take it you feel certain that the theft of the blood was committed by a vampire?”

Dean bit his lip and looked down at his notebook. “It makes sense, right? I’ve looked everywhere I could think of and I can’t figure anything else that would need to steal blood so often. I mean, if someone or something was stealing it for ritual work, I doubt they’d care much about ethical sourcing.”

Castiel’s lips quirked with a smile at the idea. “I daresay you are probably correct, regardless, even if it is a vampire attempting to repress its natural urge to feed upon and kill humans, I doubt it would be able to sustain the practice for long until the blood lust reasserted itself and we began to find bodies.”

An expression of dismay flashed across the hunter’s face before disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “So you’re saying I’ll probably have to kill h-it.”

“It seems likely, Dean. If there is a vampire living among us we have a duty to protect the people of this town and remove the threat quickly, even if it does not appear to be one at this time.” Castiel was perplexed. It seemed out of character for Dean to be so hesitant to follow through on a hunt, and he wondered what was bothering his hunter about this particular case.

He laid a cautious hand on Dean’s shoulder, relieved when he wasn’t immediately shrugged off. “It will be all right, Dean. Whatever this may be, I am positive you will be able to see it through to the end.”

Certain he’d been appropriately reassuring he patted Dean once and then began to sort through the stack of books he’d left waiting, missing the look of pained doubt hidden behind a crumbling text.

****

An ancient vampire sat watching as two of his children carried in a third to lay in pieces at his feet. He eyed the headless body dispassionately and toed a lifeless hand back from where it had flopped onto his shoe. He sighed.

“Poor Quentin.”

“Forget him, father.” A voice came from behind his chair.

He eyed his youngest daughter as she circled around to face him. “How dare you? Quentin was my most-“

“Quentin was weak.” She had the nerve to interrupt him. “You don’t need him.”

He glared without heat. “It’s the principle of the thing Andrea. To lose one of my children to another? To lose Quentin to Benny wounds me terribly. Benny was meant to have sat at my right hand, but now-“

“You must let me take care of Benny, father.” Andrea insisted.

He raised an eyebrow lazily. “Oh, are you giving the orders now?”

She scowled and turned away, arms crossed. “Fine then, have it your way.”

The vampire chuckled indulgently. Andrea had always been the fiercest of his children and her impertinence was nearly charming after three decades. “Do I sense a plan, child? Share.” He cajoled.

She spun to face him once more, a mad smile on her lips. “I think we need teach Benny a lesson, remind him who he is. Then he’ll kill the little hunter he’s been playing with, and return to the fold, back to where he belongs.”

He sighed. “Oh, Benny. I do miss him.”

“So do I, father.”

“Why would he kill the boy if he cares for him?” The vampire asked, intrigued.

She grinned, showing white straight teeth. “To keep the hunter from killing _him_.”

The vampire known as the Old Man smiled, already imagining the scene. “Oh, yes.” He glanced around the room at his children scattered around him. “Do you see, children? How well we all work together? This is how a family is supposed to function! Soon, Benny will be among us again, and all will be as it should be.”

****

Dean wrestled with his uncertainty for almost a week before he gave in and called Benny. He’d researched until his brain was numb and it hadn’t helped at all. Even knowing that it was probably beyond stupid, and that it would likely only leave him more uncertain about how he should handle the situation, he wanted to talk to Benny.

He waited for Benny outside the little restaurant where the vampire worked until his shift was over. When Benny stepped out onto the sidewalk, buttoning his wool pea coat against the cold, Dean wrapped his arms around himself and wondered if he was making a monumental mistake.

Benny looked at him searchingly. “Dean? I’m glad you called, darlin’. I want to exp-“

“Benny can we go somewhere to talk? Somewhere public maybe.” Dean interrupted. He had no idea what would happen if he went anywhere alone with Benny right now.

Benny sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I know a place.”

**

According to Benny, he had been barely twenty years old in 1945, living in New Orleans after leaving his home in the swamps to see the world and sow his wild oats. One sweltering summer night he’d met a man who’d utterly enchanted him. They had smoked and drank and laughed their way through half a dozen French Quarter bars before Benny had found himself pressed up against the door of his rented room being kissed until he was breathless. He had woken in the morning to find the man staring at him and a soul deep hunger clawing at his gut.

For decades he had sailed the world with his nest, feeding off of pleasure sailors in their yachts and fishermen on their trawlers, killing everyone and sinking the boats to the bottom of the sea to bury the remains.

As the years had passed, Benny had become increasingly weary of their way of life, of not only killing humans to survive, but for profit, for fun. He’d begun to have serious doubts.

One night he’d been halfheartedly scouting the docks for new targets when he’d come across a beautiful young woman alone on a neat little sloop, preparing to set sail at dawn. He’d given into impulse and invited her to join him for a drink. He’d been completely taken with her almost immediately, and without questioning it, had told her everything about who he was from the start.

He never returned to his nest, choosing instead to join Andrea on her travels, away from the blood and violence.

Benny’s world had been ripped apart barely a year later when his maker found him and punished him for leaving them. He had been prepared for the Old Man to kill him, but what he’d done had been so much worse; Andrea had been tortured, killed and turned before his eyes.

Becoming a vampire had broken something in Andrea, and the guilt destroyed Benny. He swore in that moment he would never again kill another human.

**

Dean listened to Benny’s story, wondering if he could truly take the vampire at its word, if they could move past this, if one day he would be forced to kill him.

Benny’s eyes were locked on his face, watching his reactions as Dean stared down into his lap, fingers picking at the frayed holes in his jeans to avoid eye contact.

“So darlin’, what’s next here? You decide if you’re gonna have to kill me yet?” the vampire asked.

He sighed when Dean hesitated. “Dean- I care about you, a lot. I never lied to you about how I feel, and you knowing the truth now doesn’t change that. I still want you. Do you want me?” Benny reached for Dean, his open hand lying on the table, waiting for Dean to make the next move.

Dean bit his lip and looked up at Benny, wanting to take his hand. “Benny, I- I do want you. But I don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t want to have to kill you, Benny. I need time to work this out, I think.”

Benny nodded and slid out of the booth. “You need time, darlin’. I understand.” Benny crooked a smile. “Luckily, I got plenty of time.”

***

Castiel was...uncomfortable. The tight black leather pants and tall black boots were light-years away from his familiar waistcoats and tweed. Molded plastic armor was buckled around his chest over a sleeveless black t-shirt and heavy darkly feathered wings hung from his shoulders. Faux-metal gauntlets covered him from wrists to elbows, neatly hiding his tattoo from the curious eyes of teenagers and fellow chaperones alike.

He’d been forced to chaperone the Halloween dance being held at Purgatory against his will, McLeod’s latest hoop for him to jump through. On principle, he tended to avoid these kinds of events; knowledge of the evil that lurked in the dark often took the novelty out of celebrating All Hallows Eve. Regardless of his reluctance, he was expected to be there, and in costume no less.

He’d gone to the costume shop and asked for ‘anything.’ He supposed he’d gotten it, though when the shopgirl had said ‘angel’ he’d been expecting white robes and fluffy wings, not...this. He looked rather more like a fallen angel instead.

On the plus side, however, it gave him the opportunity to carry his iron flail, though he’d never anticipated ever using it as a mere prop.

He wandered the edges of the party already in full swing, waiting for Dean and keeping half of an eye on the students dancing and mingling.

When Principal McLeod sidled up to him, Castiel took in the scowl on the man’s face and dutifully turned his eyes more fully on the crowd.

“Children are like locusts; crawling around, mindlessly bent on feeding and mating, destroying everything in sight in their relentless, _pointless_ desire to exist.” McLeod’s voice was low, annoyed. Castiel looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“I do always enjoy these pep talks. Have you ever considered, given your...abhorrence of children, that a school’s principal was not, perhaps, your true vocation?”

The man scoffed. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on them. They’re all just a bunch of hormonal time bombs.” His eyes scanned the crowd of students. “They turn into gibbering fools the minute someone attractive walks by.”

Castiel’s eyes widened as he finally caught sight of Dean walking in with his friends. Good _God_ , what was he _wearing_?

“You see the way these kids gaze at each other? All moon eyed and stupid?” McLeod continued as if Castiel was remotely still paying attention. “I try to teach them about the important things in life; discipline, responsibility, _punctuality_.”

Castiel walked away from McLeod then, drawn like a magnet toward his hunter.

“I might as well be talking to myself.”

***

Dean stopped talking mid-sentence the second he laid eyes on Cas, causing Jo and Charlie to turn and look at him, Charlie with amusement and Jo with confusion. His white spandex jumpsuit suddenly felt a hell of a lot tighter as he saw just exactly what the Watcher was wearing. Cas looked amazing; powerful and gorgeous and practically dripping with raw sexuality. Dean’s eyes roamed over the bare muscular shoulders framed by shiny silver armor and all those black leather straps. He felt an incredible urge to run his tongue over the molded lines of the chest plate.

“Dean!”

He yelped when a finger poked hard into his bicep, reminding him that they’d been in the middle of a conversation. Well, an argument really, and Dean had been dragged into the middle.

“What?”

“Tell Charlie that sexy costumes are a requirement for Halloween!” Jo demanded.

Dean glanced between his friends. Jo was definitely embracing the ‘come-as-you-aren’t’ idea of Halloween in a knockout Wonder Woman costume complete with a cleavage enhancing sparkly bustier, tiny golden skirt and knee high red boots. Charlie on the other hand had refused to allow Jo to force her into a sexier version of the Harry Potter inspired costume she had picked.

“Jo, Halloween is about _candy_ , I don’t need a sexy costume.” Charlie complained, rolling her eyes. “Besides, sexy on me usually just translates to spazz.” She muttered under her breath.

They both glared at each other for a moment before turning as one to Dean as they waited for his verdict. He cleared his throat, eyes wandering briefly back to Cas in his wings and leather. “Well, uh- I’m a fan of catsuits and naughty nurses almost as much as I’m a fan of candy, so...” He trailed off and Charlie slapped his arm with a scowl.

He sucked in a breath as Cas’ eyes caught his and locked, blazing with heat. He muttered some kind of response to Jo and Charlie’s continued debate, honestly not caring at that moment because Cas was crossing the room and Dean had no idea what would happen when the Watcher was within arm’s reach.

**

It turned out that Dean wouldn’t have to worry about that, because a minute later someone stepped into his line of sight and broke his eye contact with Cas. Benny had a cautious smile crooked on his face.

Dean took in the costume Benny was wearing and choked on an incredulous laugh.

Benny was dressed as fucking Dracula. Straight out of the classic monster movie, the vampire was dressed in a deep red brocade waistcoat, a black velvet cape and even had the goofy little cross medallion on a ribbon around his throat. Dean, who had been exposed to dozens of erotic fantasy inducing visuals of Cas dressed in waistcoats over the past few months had a deep appreciation of the tight fitting garments, and Dean’s fingers itched to stroke over the heavy textured fabric of Benny’s.

Benny grinned and Dean laughed harder to see that the vampire had a set of plastic fangs in his mouth. “God, Benny, you’re so fucking ridiculous. Could you be any more on the nose with that getup?”

Benny winked. “Like it?” His eyes wandered over Dean’s body in his tight red white and blue spangled jumpsuit. “What are you s’posed to be, darlin’? Other than my personal wet dream, that is.”

Dean blushed hot from head to toe and shivered at the black look of lust in Benny’s blue eyes. It felt like it had been such a long time, and Dean still remembered how Benny’s hands felt on him, how he felt inside him.

He coughed and opened his mouth to explain his Evel Knievel costume when Charlie elbowed him hard.

“Hey Cas!” She said loudly. “Wow you look great!”

***

Castiel was fighting to swallow down a tidal wave of rage and desire as he greeted Charlie in return. When the older boy had stepped in front of Dean, breaking their scorching eye contact, he’d only just resisted running the rest of the way to jerk the interloper away from his hunter. He had forced himself to walk at an appropriately moderate pace until he reached their group.

He glanced at the other boy, trying not to size him up to assess his threat level. The way Dean was reacting to him was certainly a threat to Castiel’s grasp on his own sanity. He caught a narrow-eyed look from Charlie and swallowed. She knew how he felt about Dean and seemed to be waiting for him to make an arse of himself in front of Dean and the boy who was obviously Dean’s boyfriend.

Castiel took a breath to center himself and then looked to the rest of the group, nodding in greeting. Dean was flushed and embarrassed as he said hello, eyes darting warily between Castiel and the boy beside him, lower lip caught between his teeth.

***

Dean was nervous as hell, feeling trapped between Benny and Cas and wishing desperately for any kind of diversion that would allow him to make an escape. He glanced around the circle of people, at his friends, his Watcher, his...whatever Benny was and knew he needed to say something, make some kind of introductions. His friends had never formally met Benny and he’d been planning on making sure Cas never did, but as per usual his life rarely went according to plan.

He cleared his throat, regretting the action as four pairs of eyes met his. “So, okay. Guys, I want to introduce you to Benny, my...boyfriend.” He swallowed hard. He hadn’t exactly meant to say it out loud again until he was sure, but it was out there now. Benny looked at him so warmly then, and Dean could feel it throughout his whole body. “Benny, these are my best friends Charlie and Jo.” Charlie seemed to be choking on her laughter and Dean knew she was reacting to Benny’s costume. Jo just looked perplexed, but they both said hello when he introduced them to each other.

He took a deep breath and turned to face Cas. The Watcher’s face was a blank mask and Dean couldn’t read a thing from it. “And this is Cas. He’s kind of like my...mentor.”

Benny extended a hand to shake Cas’ and the man took it, albeit somewhat slowly. The two of them held on a moment too long and Dean wondered if there was some kind of macho silent pissing contest happening between them. Benny nodded. “Nice to meet you, Cas.”

The Watcher frowned slightly. “Actually, I prefer Mr. Novak, or if you insist on being as informal and American as these three, Castiel.” He said stiffly.

Dean fought not to roll his eyes. Benny looked at Dean and then back to Cas before he lifted his shoulder with a shrug. “No problem. Nice to meet you then, Castiel.”

Dean could have kissed him when Benny seemed to read the tension of the group and said, “I think I’m going to get a drink. Anybody else want?”

It wasn’t until after Benny had left with the drinks order and Jo decided to haul Charlie out to the dance floor to have a whispered conversation that Dean realized he and Cas had been left alone. He gulped and tried to look anywhere but at his Watcher.

He had just worked up the courage to face Cas when the screaming began.

**

Dean was about to push into the knot of people gathered around the open door of the girl’s bathroom when Benny grabbed his elbow and tugged him to a stop.

“Dean.” Benny’s voice was guttural. “There’s fresh blood in there.”

“What? How do you know-“ His heart skipped a beat when he turned and saw the vampire’s pupils blown wide and face gone almost feral.

“Oh God, you can _smell_ it, can’t you?” Dean whispered, feeling his pulse beginning to race.

Benny looked away. Dean could see Cas near the front of the throng of gawkers, hands out in a universal gesture of calm reassurance, encouraging people to disperse and he knew he needed to get up there too.

“Benny, you can’t go in there with me.” He swallowed when Benny growled. “I’ll be okay I promise, but Cas will _kill_ you, man. He’ll know what you are the second he sees you like this.” He laid a hand on the vampire’s tense forearm and begged silently for Benny to understand.

Benny frowned and nodded tightly. “I’ll go get some air. Find me after.” He pulled himself from Dean’s grip and melted into the crowd. Dean couldn’t help the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pushed through the press of bodies to the bathroom.

**  
A half hour later Dean was desperate to get some air himself, though he wasn’t sure if he was eager to find Benny or not. The scene in the bathroom had been chaos; blood splashed across the tile, hysterical teenage girls in costumes crying in each other’s arms. The vic had been left in the middle of the floor, body so fresh it was practically still bleeding, the throat clearly savaged by something with some serious teeth.

It didn’t take much of a leap to come to the conclusion that the killer had been a vampire.

Jo was awkwardly consoling a girl dressed like a cowgirl and shooting him significant looks in between pats and Dean decided to make a break for it before she did something as stupid as asking about Benny in front of Cas.

****

Benny’s skin was crawling, trying not to think about the sweet metallic smell still lingering in his senses. The cool night air helped some, but he was restless just waiting around when he knew good and goddamned well what had happened in that bathroom.

It had been a challenge, threat and invitation all in one.

He came to attention from where he’d been pretending to slouch against the wall outside the club when Dean came out looking stressed. He squeezed his eyes shut when the scent of blood drifted into his nostrils as the hunter came close, clinging to his clothes and skin. Benny’s mouth watered, images flashing in his mind of stripping Dean naked and licking the faint traces from his body, and he grit his teeth hard to fight back the red tinged impulse.

“Vampire?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Dean blew out a breath and nodded. “It was pretty bad, Benny. Was it your nest, do you think? Or are there more vampires in Sioux Falls than we thought?”

“It’s them. They want me back, Dean.” He said. And they must have been getting impatient to escalate to leaving corpses in public places already. He had hoped the thing with Andrea had been mostly deluded bullshit, but when they’d sent Quentin after him he knew the Old Man was involved, and now this. He was running out of options, lest they decide to bring this thing out into the open and expose him in the process, and the absolute last thing he wanted was for Dean to end up anywhere on his maker’s radar. The vampire had used his love for humans against him before and he wasn’t about to let Dean go up against the Old Man; it would be suicide.

On impulse he reached out and dragged Dean close, breath ragged as he inhaled the scent of blood and boy. “Promise me you’ll let me handle this Dean. Don’t go after them.”

Dean pushed him back, a look of disbelief clear on his face. “You know I can’t do that, Benny. I’m a hunter; it’s my job to go after them.”

Benny’s jaw tensed as he fought not to grab Dean and shout. “They’ll kill you Dean, before you even get a chance to try. I know these bastards, you don’t. Trust me, here.”

Dean took another step back and ran his hands over his face. “Benny...Look, I can give you a day, maybe, before Cas realizes that I’m stalling for time.” He sighed when Benny relaxed with relief. “I can’t make you any promises, but-” His next words were swallowed by Benny’s sudden kiss. After a second or two of frozen hesitation Dean melted into it.

The vampire pressed his forehead to Dean’s. “That’s all I need, Dean. Thank you.” Another kiss was pressed to his lips and then Benny was gone.

****

Charlie stood at the edge of the stage watching police setting up crime scene tape and chaperones scurrying around checking on the few students who remained, offering reassurance and phone calls to have them picked up. She’d seen Dean go out the front door and was anxiously waiting to see if he would be coming back. She was seriously freaked out. She’d seen some stuff, helping as she did with Dean and his hunting, but this was the first dead body she’d ever seen and it had been the worst kind of shock. It suddenly made everything she thought she knew about the supernatural world startlingly clear. She wondered how much Dean and Cas had sanitized things to protect her sensibilities.

She chewed her lip for a moment before she decided she needed to go find her friend. She spun around and crashed immediately into another person. Hands steadied her and she blinked when she looked up in the midst of apologizing to realize how close the other girl was. She was gorgeous, hazel eyes bright and mischievous despite the events of the night, dark curls trailing over her shoulders. The girl smiled and Charlie felt her knees turn to jelly.

“Easy there. You okay?” Charlie nodded, dumbstruck as the girl’s smile widened. “Good. See you soon, Charlie.”

Charlie was left staring after her as the girl sashayed away, all hips and a hint of a tattoo on her lower back beneath the hem of her t-shirt.

Had she said she’d see Charlie soon? How could she know that? And wait. How had she known Charlie’s name in the first place?

Who _was_ that girl?

****

_-November-_

They were holed up in the library, Dean and the girls and Ash and Cas, all huddled around the table preparing for the hunt ahead. Dean had said he would give Benny twenty-four hours, but those hours had been steadily ticking away. He’d yet to hear anything from the vampire, and he was starting to get impatient. Everyone was anxiously searching for leads, Ash and Charlie manning the computers and Cas reporting on what he’d been able to overhear from the police and the other teachers who had been chaperoning the party.

The tense silence was shattered when Charlie gasped. “Oh my god. They just found another body.”

**

Dean hung up the phone for the fifth time with a curse. He’d managed to get a glimpse of the crime scene, swarmed as it was with cops and onlookers and he’d called Benny as soon as he’d made it back to the Impala.

Or he’d tried anyway.

Benny wasn’t answering, and with every call that went straight to voicemail Dean’s worry went up another notch.

He knew he should have told Cas right away about Benny and the nest, but if he did now, Cas would probably kill them both. He needed to find Benny first, and then he could figure out how to make it right with his Watcher.

He jammed the Impala into gear and dialed Benny again, unease growing in his gut as his voicemail came over the line.

****

_There is a boy chained to the walls of what looks like a cave. The flickering light of candles licks the bare stone, leaving much in shadow. He is weak; eyes slit open as he struggles against the shackles circling his wrists. There are figures in the shadows, moving around him in the dark._

_Another boy, broader, older looking, with a scruff of light brown facial hair, is tied to a column with thick, coarse rope. His eyes are burning with an inhuman hunger, face drawn tight and pale._

_A beautiful olive-skinned girl slips out of the darkness, on the order of someone who remains hidden. Her full mouth is twisted in a maniacal smile, chilling. She lifts a knife from her side, staring at the older boy in obvious amusement as she runs the tip of the knife from her sleek throat and down between her full breasts._

_She crosses in front of the chained boy and pulls him out from the wall, his arms cording with muscle as he holds himself up. She uses the knife to slice his shirt from him carefully. She gazes challengingly at the older boy and leans down to lick at her victim’s neck. The tied boy fights against his bonds, a growl slipping out of his mouth. She hisses at him and sharp fangs slip over her teeth as she laughs._

_She drags long silver-tipped nails down the boy's skin, leaving angry red furrows over his chest and stomach. The knife reappears and draws across skin, making long shallow cuts. The boy curses and tries to jerk out of her grasp. As blood trickles down in thin red lines, the tied boy snarls, eyes clenched shut as fangs snick into place._

_A man steps forward from the shadows, his face soft and young looking, but his bright blue eyes are ancient. He smirks at the boy chained to the wall and reaches out with one slim hand to trail his fingertips through the blood on the boy’s chest. The boy hisses in pain as the man’s nails scrape over the edges of his wounds._

_The man stands before the tied boy, crimson-stained fingers held up to his lips. “Taste him.” The man says, voice almost musical, soft and lovely._

_“No. I won't.” The boy strains._

_The man clicks his tongue, smearing the blood over the boy's chapped, bitten lips, fingers pressing into his mouth. “You have been so strong, for so long, my darling. I know what you need, don’t deny yourself any longer.” The boy’s teeth are red with blood as he snarls again._

_The man motions for another of his flock to untie the boy and he fights as they force him forward, pressing his body against the chained boy, his breathing ragged and heavy. The boy in front of him whispers something to him softly, his face solemn but surprisingly calm. The older boy shakes his head harshly, clearly fighting a losing battle within. When he looks back at the boy, his expression is haunted. His fingers unclench from their fists as he raises his hand to cup the boy’s cheek, pressing their foreheads together in a moment of tenderness. The chained boy nods when they part and he winces as his head is pulled sharply to the side by his hair._

_The older boy screams hoarsely as he rears back and then he is falling on the chained boy, fangs burying into the tender, exposed skin of his throat..._

**

Pamela Barnes gasped into wakefulness as the vision ended abruptly, sitting up in bed shaking. Her body was slick with cold sweat and the covers were tangled around her legs. It wasn’t the first vision she’d had before, but mostly her visions were personal, and nothing nearly as intense as the one that had just slammed into her subconscious.

She didn’t understand what the vision meant, but she recognized one of the boys in it, and she knew she needed to do something and do it quickly.

She needed Charlie.

****

Castiel was restless, tense and anxious as he paced his office for lack of anything more productive to do. Dean had phoned to report on the crime scene and to say that he was going to follow up on some potential leads, but that had been over twenty-four hours ago and his hunter had not called to check in again and was not answering his phone.

He had a feeling he couldn’t ignore that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t wait any longer, needed to get out there and find Dean, now.

He was grabbing weapons at random, tossing them into an empty duffle at his feet when he heard the sound of the library doors opening. He dropped the ceremonial dagger he had snatched off its hook and rushed from the book cage, praying with everything he had that it was his hunter.

He stopped short when he saw Charlie and an unfamiliar dark-haired girl standing there, the redhead pale and wringing her hands.

“Miss Bradbury, what is it? Have you heard from Dean?” His voice was tight with impatience.

Charlie gulped. “Um- no, Cas. But, I think- we think,” she motioned between the other girl and herself. “we might know where he is.”

He stilled. “How?”

“Well, uh- Pamela, this is Pamela by the way, she had this um- vision. She’s psychic and she had a vision about Dean. She thinks she can tell us where he is.” She fidgeted. “You’re not gonna like it, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed at the girl. “Tell me, now.”

***

Dean blinked his eyes open, groggy in the dim light. He had no idea where in the hell he was or how he’d gotten there. He had left the scene of the second vampire kill and gone to Benny’s apartment to look for any kind of clue where he could have disappeared to. He’d been tearing apart Benny’s bedroom when something knocked him over the back of his head with a fierce blow.

He tried to rub his hands against his eyes to try to relieve the colossal migraine pounding in his brain and jerked in surprise when he could only move them a few inches from where they were chained. He could feel the cold, rough stone against his back now and he struggled to remain calm instead of yanking at the chains in useless panic.

“Dean...” He whipped his head up, eyes clearing in an instant at the sound of the raw, hoarse voice. His eyes widened, heart pounding.

“Benny? What the hell happened to you?!” The vampire looked half-dead, grey and starved.

A laugh came from the shadows and Dean strained to see the man standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked young, but he could nearly feel the ancient press of years in him. Could he be Benny’s maker? The Old Man?

“Ah, Dean Winchester, so pleased you could join us.” The man moved from the shadows to stare at him with cold arrogance. “To answer your question, we were forced to take Benny when he refused to return to us by choice. And when we left him so many lovely invitations, too.” The man pouted mockingly. “We brought him here, and now we plan to punish him. Benny was going to try to _betray_ us, his family, for a _hunter_.” The vampire’s voice was thick with disdain. “Obviously, I could not allow that to happen.”

He crossed to stand in front of Benny and stroked his face. “I punished him once before, for his last slight against me by making his silly human cow one of us. He hasn’t killed a human since, thinking to deny what he is. I think it only appropriate that I punish him for _this_ crime by making his first kill in so long be someone that he loves.”

The vampire smiled as a girl he vaguely recognized stepped forward and trailed her fingernails over Dean’s face. “He’s poisoned, Dean. Something we mixed up special with Dead Man’s Blood and a few other nasty things. The only cure for him now is fresh, human blood.” She turned a grin on Benny and pinched Dean’s cheek viciously. “No bag lunch for Benny today.”

Benny snarled. “Let him go! He means nothing to you.”

The ancient vampire sneered. “But he means _everything_ to you, my love. Killing him would destroy you, more than turning Andrea ever did.” He looked at Dean, eyes full of anger. “You see boy, you’re all he thinks about, dreams about. He truly loves you. And he will kill you, or he’ll die in agony.”

***

Castiel pounded at the front door of Bobby Singer’s house feeling savage as he waited impatiently for his knock to be answered. Bobby threw the door open, an anxious looking Sam staring at Castiel from over the old man’s shoulder.

“Cas? Where’s Dean? What the hell is going on?”

Castiel pushed his way into the house, heading directly for Bobby’s library. “I need your help finding a cave, Bobby. I’ve gotten some information that may lead us to Dean’s whereabouts, but I don’t know this area the way you do.”

“A cave? What the hell has that boy gotten himself into now?” Bobby asked exasperatedly. 

Castiel fought not to scream at the old man. “It would appear that Dean is being held by vampires.” He looked at Bobby suspiciously. “Were you aware that Dean’s boyfriend is a vampire?”

Bobby gaped. “What?! Not my Dean!”

Castiel grit his teeth. “Yes, it seems we have both been kept in the dark on that particular detail. But we’re running out of time, Bobby. Can you find me this cave?” He turned to the bookshelves without waiting for an answer. “Because I need to kill something. Right now.”

***

Dean felt absolutely helpless as he watched Benny struggling against the vampires pushing him toward him. He swallowed a yelp of pain when Benny’s jacket dragged across the knife wounds on his chest, sticking in the drying blood. His heart beat double time at the wild, animalistic look on Benny’s face and he could hear a rough, raw keening building deep in his chest.

God, he was so afraid for Benny, afraid for himself. Benny was clearly in pain and it killed him. The last thing he wanted to do was play entrée for a vamp, but he had no idea what else to do here. Benny was dying and Dean wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a chance against half a dozen fanged fucks without some serious help.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he made the only decision he could. “Benny...” He whispered, repeating his name until he had Benny’s attention. “Benny, just take it. Drink from me. I need your help here, please.” Benny’s eyes widened and he shook his head, but Dean couldn’t help but see the way his eyes were drawn to the beating pulse in Dean’s neck against his will. “You won’t hurt me Benny. I trust you, its okay.”

He tensed when one of Benny’s hands slid against his cheek and pulled them together, just breathing together. Benny pulled back, eyes searching Dean’s for any sign of second thoughts. Dean nodded, trying to force himself to relax.

Any thought of relaxing into it flew out the window when Benny yanked at his hair, baring his throat. All he could do was brace for the strike.

***

With Bobby at his back, Castiel burst into the cave, an axe in each hand hacking the heads off of two vampires as he moved with exacting purpose. He froze for a second at the sight of Dean hanging limply in a set of manacles and a vampire worrying at his throat. His vision hazed with red and he shouted wordlessly, enraged. He rushed toward Dean, axe raised, ready to strike when his hunter’s eyes flew open and he screamed.

“CAS, NO! Please, don’t kill him!” His voice was hoarse, high with pain and fear.

Castiel managed to wrench the axe away a fraction of an inch from the vampire’s neck. His mind went blank as Benny lifted his head, mouth smeared with Dean’s blood.

He looked away when the vampire and Dean looked at each other meaningfully and turned his focus back on the fight. Another vampire had fought free from Bobby and was reaching for the older man’s neck. Castiel braced himself and surged back into battle.

****

Benny was reaching to tear Dean’s chains from the wall when he was torn backwards. He turned with a snarl to fight, fangs bared as he slammed a fist into its face, sending the vampire sprawling across the floor of the cave.

An arrogant laugh echoed from a darkened corner and his maker stepped from the shadows. Benny strode forward, grabbing the ancient vampire by his shirt and shoving him against a wall. He gave Benny a condescending look as he stood there passively. “Do you think I’m going to fight you, Benny? Why should I? I won’t give you your revenge.”

Benny kneed him in the stomach, but the vampire refused to go down. He wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands.

A flurry of motion caught his eye and he howled at the sight of Andrea pummeling Dean still trapped in his chains, trying to fight her off with weak kicks, but he was losing the fight badly.

He was torn between needing to see the Old Man dead and needing to rescue Dean. His maker was trying to slip free from his grasp, taking advantage of his split attention, and had almost succeeded when a voice rang out in the cave above the sounds of fighting.

“Benny!”

He turned to see Castiel’s axe flipping end over end in the air toward him, catching it just before it took off his head. A body slammed into him, taking him down to the ground with a crash. His head was bashed into stone, stars flashing in his eyes before he was able to wrestle the vampire for the upper hand. He hauled his maker up by one hand and swung the axe without hesitation. He slumped back on his heels as the head of the Old Man rolled across the floor.

****

Castiel sat in the waiting area down the hall from Dean’s hospital room talking to a vampire and he couldn’t imagine a more bizarre scene.

He had no idea what had come over him back in that cave when he had thrown Benny his axe, helping the vampire to eliminate his maker. But instinct had taken over, the need to assist a compatriot in battle, and he’d acted without thinking.

Despite their victory, the vampire’s face was grim.

“Benny- He’s going to be fine. He obviously trusted you and you managed to stop before it was too late.” He reassured despite himself.

Benny choked on a laugh. “Sure, he trusted me. He shouldn’t have. I probably would have killed him if you hadn’t shown up.” He frowned. “I love him Castiel. He was the best thing that ever happened to me and I almost killed him.”

Castiel swallowed a tight lump of pain and had no idea what to say.

Benny looked up at him. “But he doesn’t love me. With enough time, I think he could have, but he’s young and I’m not what he needs right now.”

The vampire glanced down the hallway toward Dean’s room, watching as a nurse slipped out of the door scribbling notes in a chart. “I need five minutes alone with him, and then I’m leaving. Andrea is still out there, and if I stay, she’ll come after him again. She’ll kill him and I can’t let him get hurt again because of me. He’ll hate me for a while, but he has his friends. He has you.”

Castiel was left with his mouth hanging open as Benny rose from his seat and strode down the hallway.

***

Dean struggled against about a dozen layers of blankets, trying to sit up in his narrow hospital bed when Benny walked into his room. He smiled, but Benny’s face was unreadable. Apprehension coiled in his gut, the wound on his neck a throbbing ache despite the pain medication they were forcing on him.

The doctors had taken no chances with him, giving him a whole series of booster shots and even tested him for rabies. The double rows of puncture marks on his throat did look remarkably like an animal bite, and apparently they’d run with that story when they’d brought him in.

Benny came to his aid, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him sit up against the pillows before sitting in the chair next to Dean’s bed, blue eyes full of guilt.

“Benny, whatever you’re thinking-“

Benny scowled. “Dean, dammit this is my fault. I’m the reason you got hurt.” His voice was strained.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. You’ll see. In a week or so I’ll be completely back to normal. _We_ can go back to normal, Benny.” He was starting to panic.

Benny sighed. “I won’t ever be able to forget, Dean. I can still taste you, don’t you understand that? I nearly killed you and almost all I can think about is the taste of your blood still in my mouth. I’m not safe to be around you anymore. What if I lose control again?” He sounded so defeated and Dean was definitively panicking now.

“Don’t do it, Benny. Please.” He tried not to resort to pleading.

“Dean, I’m leaving. It’s the only way for you to be safe. I have to leave Sioux Falls.” Benny looked away.

Dean slumped back against his pillows and felt a tear slip down his cheek. He wasn’t going to cry. Screw that.

Benny’s hand covered Dean’s where it lay against the blankets as his other hand lifted his face to kiss him gently. “You’re better off without me, _cher_.”

Dean watched in silent shock as Benny got up from his chair and walked out of his life without looking back.

***

Castiel entered the dimly lit hospital room to find Dean curled up on his side staring blankly at the wall. He turned his head to look at Castiel, his eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“Cas...” His voice was hollow.

Castiel crossed the room to crouch at Dean’s bedside, a hand reaching out to stroke through the boy’s hair.

“He’s leaving, Cas. Why does everyone leave?” Dean sniffed, biting his lip.

Castiel gave in to his need to comfort Dean and climbed into the bed with him, holding Dean closely. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean’s fingers twisted in his sweater and Castiel held him as he broke.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to break this shorter chapter off of the larger part 4 as it was nearly 30k and this is a nice little dirtysweet segue into the heavier parts to come.
> 
> No chapter warnings I can think of, poke me if you think something needs a CW.

_-December-_

Mayor Nick D'iavolo was working his way steadily through a stack of officious documents requiring his signature when a soft, hesitant knock sounded at the door of his plush City Hall office.

“Enter.” He called out without looking up from his task.

“So s-sorry to interrupt you, Sir,” his Deputy Mayor cleared his throat nervously. “but your three o’clock is here to see you.” The man’s distaste was apparent despite his characteristic twitchiness.

Nick nodded and glanced at his watch. “Yes, of course Kevin, thank you. Please show him in.” He resisted the urge to smile as the young man scurried out of sight. A healthy respect, if not fear, of his authority was always a welcome boost to the ego

His amusement was diminished somewhat as the human shell of a man currently animated by the demon Azazel sauntered into his office and dropped casually into a chair before his desk. Nick raised an eyebrow at the man’s demeanor. It appeared that their last encounter in this office had already been forgotten, for the demon seemed perfectly at ease now with his show of disrespect.

Azazel leaned further back into his chair with a lazy smirk. “Afternoon, mister Mayor. How’s tricks?”

Nick frowned, unaccustomed to such informality from a subordinate, human or not. “Perhaps you have been away too long, Azazel. Long enough to forget that you sit before me by grace of my mercy alone.” He caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye where his two enforcers waited for the smallest signal from him. “Perhaps you need a reminder.”

The yellow-eyed demon’s lips thinned, but he sat straighter in his seat. “I’ll pass, thanks. What can I do for you today? Sir.”

Nick smiled tightly. “Better.” He gestured dismissively and the two massive demons somehow melted into the shadows again. Standing, he crossed to the credenza to pour himself a scotch. “I’ve called you here today to hopefully offer some clarity regarding your role in the coming months.” Nick allowed a mouthful of the smooth liquor to spread across his tongue before continuing. “You see, I have many plans for the coming year, and the success of those plans is extremely important to me.”

Azazel snorted drily. “Election year?”

Nick smiled as he triggered a catch just to the left of his liquor tray, revealing a hidden cache of artefacts and volumes likely older than the demon itself, the various accoutrement of a powerful man who, for the last ten years in office, had been preparing himself to become a worthy vessel for Lucifer himself.

“Something like that.”

****

December in South Dakota was fucking brutal. Dean stomped his way through frozen brush and the skeletons of the last of the fallen autumn leaves in a dense stretch of woods behind a housing development at the edge of town, humming and air guitaring through the Black album trying to keep his focus on patrolling and not on how absolutely shit 35 year old leather was at being warm.

The last thing he wanted was another lecture from his Boy Scout of a Watcher on what counted as appropriate winter gear. He’d spent one night of vulnerable, unexpected intimacy in Cas’ arms and it’d only seemed to have made the man even more British and reserved than ever. It was almost frustrating how the man’s cool, careful distance could be reasonably explained away as Cas being simply focused on the job at hand, but Dean had a head full feelings he didn’t know what to do with now. He’d never admit that his Watcher was right about the jacket though. He’d freeze to death first.

He snorted and buried his half-numb fingers deeper into his pockets as he tried to march some feeling back into his feet.

Just as he was contemplating calling it a night, a raucous crashing sound came from the trees ahead of him. His focus sharpened as he waited for whatever was causing all the noise to show itself. There was about a 70% chance it was a deer, or maybe even a bear, but he was out here for a reason. Ash had been getting scarily accurate at predicting patterns of supernatural activity in Sioux Falls and he’d interpreted _something_ of significance from the impossible pile of data his programming collated and this area in particular had been pinpointed on the hunter’s map Dean had installed in a corner of Cas’ office despite the Watcher’s protestations as capital ‘S’ significant.

So here he was.

He kind of really hoped it was a bear though.

His hopes were shredded to confetti as two hulking creatures burst out of the brush; nasty looking motherfuckers covered in thick, almost scale-like matted grey fur and tall horned tufts ranged across their skulls. Despite all of the noise they made, none of it was growling or grunting and Dean had a suspicious feeling that the dense hair on their faces weren’t simply concealing their mouths from view.

_Huh_. New.

He took a moment to appreciate the novelty before whipping a pair of flat silver throwing knives from a set of forearm sheaths and bared his teeth, all thoughts of cold forgotten in the rush of anticipation for the fight ahead.

**

Cas was frowning handsomely when Dean and Charlie walked into the library the next morning, brows furrowed in thought with one leg thrown over the other and a forgotten mug of tea in hand. Jo and Ash were bickering quietly, a jumble of textbooks and research volumes scattered across the table in front of them and Ash’s Frankenstein of a laptop chirping and whirring off to the side as it did its thing.

Charlie pulled out a chair and sat, pushing aside a book opened to a particularly graphic diagram of something beastly with a grimace. “I’m really not sure I like the sound of that no-mouth thing, you know.” She shuddered delicately. “Though, I guess it’s better than a ginormous mouth full of teeth, right?” She paused, eyes going wide and staring off into space for a second before she added almost to herself. “Unless it’s got teeth somewhere...else.”

Dean mimed retching. “Thanks for that mental image, buddy.” He tossed his bag down onto an empty chair and scratched at an annoyingly itchy patch on his forearm. He waited for Cas to demand a report from last night and poked the Watcher in the arm when several minutes went by with only silence.

“Earth to Cas.” His grin was fond when Cas blinked owlishly behind his glasses and turned his head to face Dean.

“Hello, Dean. How did patrol go last night?” His eyes narrowed slightly as he took note of Dean’s leather jacket.

Dean rolled his eyes and hurriedly tugged the knives Cas had loaned him from his bag, hopefully to distract the Watcher with inspecting his weapons for flaws. “It went okay. Bagged one yeti-type with no mouth; lost the other though. Things were tough bastards.” Dean winced and rolled his shoulders, muscles still aching from where he’d been thrown around and into trees. He wasn’t even going to think about the stream; his ass was still thawing out from being dunked in the frigid water. “But those knives were awesome, dude. Went through that bigfoot like it was prime rib.”

Cas grunted non-committedly; not even bothering to remind Dean yet again that bigfoot was almost certainly a hoax, successfully focused for the moment on the knives and not Dean’s choice of vintage outerwear, moving absentmindedly from his chair to wander to the weapon’s locker to return them.

Dean tried not to stare, he really did. He figured he’d failed when Charlie kicked him under the table. He colored at the look on her face when he glanced in her direction. Who could blame him though? Cas in his perfectly tailored wool slacks and pinstriped waistcoat was more than worth the second look. He grabbed the nearest book and dragged it in front of him to give himself something else to concentrate on.

He was pretending to read so hard that he startled when the Watcher suddenly appeared at the table again.

“So yeah, that was uh- pretty much it. I’ll have to go back out and look for the other one, but for now... How’s the researching going?” He asked.

The Watcher’s frown returned. “Well. We’ve been using Ash’s data from the last several weeks to try to ascertain the whereabouts of the yellow-eyed demon and his associates as well as using several reference texts to attempt to determine what their intentions may be, rituals and such.”

“Riveting stuff, y’all.” Ash muttered, not taking his eyes off of his screen.

Dean perked up at the news, his embarrassment fading slightly. Yellow-Eyes had apparently gone entirely to ground after the attack on Parent Teacher night and despite the occasional sign of lower level demon activity, neither he nor Cas had been able to find any trace of him since. It was starting to make Dean twitchy.

“And? What do we know.” He prompted.

Jo rolled her eyes. “What _don’t_ we know? Tell him Cas.”

The Watcher fidgeted. “Yes, well. I’ve eliminated several possibilities, and cross-referenced, and – erm. We _can_ definitively say that it is _not_ the ritual flaying of- Oh, hell. I don’t know what’s happening.” Cas flushed and yanked his glasses off again to polish them needlessly.

Charlie flipped the cover of a book shut looking nonplussed. “Well that was pretty much textbook anti-climax.”

Dean just scowled and scratched absently at his arm.

**

Dean slammed his locker door shut with a clang and swallowed a decidedly unmanly yelp when he looked up to find Charlie standing there with a gleam in her eyes that only ever spelled trouble for him.

“Hello, Dean.” She said in an affectedly lowered tone. Dean glared frostily, which seemed to amuse her.

“What do you want Bradbury?” He said apprehensively.

“D’aww, don’t be like that _Winchester_.” She stuck out her tongue and nudged him playfully with her elbow. “I was just wondering if the whole drooling over Cas thing is just ‘cause you’ve been in a dry spell and he’s a good looking dude, not that _I’d_ know but whatever, not the point, or if you’re seriously thinking about going there with him again.” Her brows drew down slightly in concern. “I don’t want to see you end up hurt again, Dean.”

He coughed and felt his face flush uncomfortably. “Er...no? I mean – since the whole Benny thing – and yeah there was that whole Cas holding me in the hospital while I cried like a bi-“ Charlie’s gentle look of concern flashed to terrifying narrowed-eyed challenge and he swallowed the rest of the word before trying again. “Er... _baby_ thing, but no, I think he’s probably still pretty pissed about all of it. We haven’t talked about anything besides patrols and crap for weeks.” He scuffed his boot against the floor and tried not to sound like he was pouting.

She shrugged sympathetically. “I dunno, Dean. I saw how he looked at you when I came to see you in the hospital. He barely left your side.”

Dean slumped back against his locker and heaved a sigh. He had no idea what Cas was thinking or feeling, but hell if he was going to be the one to ask. Stubbornness was practically in his DNA.

Charlie patted his arm as the bell shrilled overhead.

***

Castiel took advantage of a quiet minute to brew yet another cup of tea and to center himself, clearing his mind of intrusive thoughts related to a certain compelling green-eyed hunter for the twentieth time that day.

The last month and a half had been an exercise in restraint, determined as he was to keep his thoughts and his interactions with Dean well within the boundaries of propriety. In such a short period of time he’d gone from being absolutely, blisteringly furious with the boy and the secrets he had kept to wanting to hold him closely and never let go. Holding Dean in his arms in his moment of despair had been a revelation, and at the same time it had been a shocking moment of clarity. He had crossed so many of his own clearly drawn lines where the hunter was involved; he would not permit himself to do so again. No matter how desperately he wished to.

Tea, meditation and deliberately keeping Dean at a careful distance were the only things that had allowed him to cultivate a careful shield of control and he’d be damned to hell if he lost hold of it now.

***

Dean was freaking _itchy_. The entire way through fourth period he fought against the near-mindless compulsion to scratch at his arm. He groaned under his breath and tried to focus on the reading he was supposed to be doing.

“ _Dean!_ ” He jumped at Jo’s hiss and yanked his hand away from his arm. He glanced at her, her face screwed up in bewilderment.

The bell rang and he scrambled to shove his books away so he could escape, but she snatched him by the elbow and swung him around with surprising strength. He tried to tug his arm out of her grip but she was yanking up his cuff before he could stop her.

He figured her gasp was justified; he was more than a little taken aback himself. Under the sleeve of his flannel his skin was crisscrossed with nail marks and raw red lines.

He blanched when he remembered scrubbing viscous oil-black ichor from his skin in the shower after he’d finally dragged himself home last night. He’d completely forgotten about it in the face of his exhaustion as soon as the last trace of it disappeared down the drain in a final inky swirl.

He slung the strap of his bag haphazardly over his shoulder and bolted to the door.

“Dean! What the hell!?” Jo called after him.

He didn’t even bother to stop before calling over his shoulder. “I got to talk to Cas, Jo!”

He refused to let a shiver of fear crawl down his spine as he sprinted for the library.

**

Dean was fidgeting restlessly from his perch on the desk in the Watcher’s office. He had shed his flannel as soon as he’d crossed the threshold, trying not to hyperventilate as he demanded that Cas inspect his arm for signs of Sasquatch VD.

Cas was bent over his arm, peering closely at the reddened patch of skin with a unreadable expression on his face.

“You say the creature touched you?” The Watcher addressed his forearm before reaching out to draw the appendage closer to the lamplight.

Dean felt a thrill at the firm touch, no matter how clinical it had been. Despite the anxiety that was still coursing through him, it was somehow beginning to fade just from Cas’ attention and the man’s hands on his skin.

He cleared his throat to stop himself from melting into a puddle on the desk to muster up an attempt at indignation. “Well, yeah, but not like a _bad_ touch, dude. We were _fighting_.”

Cas’ mouth lifted minutely as if he were trying not to smile at Dean’s clarification.

“Anyway, I ended up with blood and gunk all over my arm from where I stabbed the one I ganked and now...” He gestured expressively at his own arm as if to say ‘So now what?’ “It’s been itching like crazy all day. What’s happening to me Cas?”

“Hmm.” Was the only response he got as Cas let him go to move to the bookcase. Dean began fidgeting again as the Watcher to his time selecting a book and paging through it slowly. He felt ready to crawl out of his skin by the time the man turned back around and held the book open for him to see. “Would this be the creature in question?”

Dean shuddered. “In the disgusting furry flesh.”

Cas sat to continue reading, jotting notes in his journal, his shoulder and arm a point of warmth against Dean’s side where he was still seated on the desk.

Dean leaned into him, trying in vain to read over Cas’ shoulder, but the Watcher’s miniscule handwriting was indecipherable. And possibly in code.

His already meager patience was crumbling into nothingness.

“Cas! What did you find?” He strangled his shout into something hopefully more library appropriate inside voice.

“Hmm?” Cas looked up and blinked vivid blue eyes in Dean’s face. He cleared his throat and slid his chair back without comment. “Yes. According to the text, it appears that this particular creature has the ability to infect a host that comes into contact with its bodily fluids.” He imparted that particularly distressing bit of information and then pulled the book back into his lap with a fingertip pressed to the dip in his chin, in deep thought once more.

Dean’s eyes bugged out and all hope of an inside voice went out the window. “Infect?!” When Cas didn’t respond he grabbed a pen from the desk and lobbed it at the man. The Watcher caught it deftly before it struck him, but at least he turned his attention from the book back to Dean. “Cas! Infect?!”

Cas crossed one leg over the other. “Yes. ‘Infect a host with an aspect of the creature.’ That’s all it says.” He mumbled distractedly, foot bouncing on his knee before he burst up from the chair to return to the bookcase.

Dean snatched the book from where it had been discarded on the desk, eyes racing of the page crammed full of abstruse text. “An _aspect_? What the hell does that mean?”

Cas shrugged, nose already buried in another book. “I believe that it could mean any number of things, Dean, including parts of or characteristics of the creature.”

The sound of a book thumping onto the floor as it slid from Dean’s suddenly nerveless fingers drew the Watcher’s attention, but Dean didn’t notice the flash of concern on the man’s face.

“Jesus. I hope it’s not the outside part.”

**

Dean was checking his reflection in the back of his spoon for the fifth time in as many minutes before Jo slapped his hand and took it away from him.

“What are you even doing Dean?” She asked incredulously.

“Nothing.” He huffed, then dropped his head to the table with a groan. “ _Checking for horns_.” He confessed into the metal surface.

It said something about the nature of their friendship and the experiences they’d shared in the last few months that she didn’t even seem surprised; she only blinked at him as she tried to process the thought. Thankfully her attention was pulled away from where it had fixated on the top of his head and he followed the direction of her glare. He raised an eyebrow when instead of finding Meg doing something obnoxious, he found Charlie standing shoulder to shoulder with Pamela Barnes, heads close together and giggling as they filled their trays.

Pamela had become a regular visitor to their lunch table and occasionally accompanied Charlie to the library in the last few weeks since she had played a major role in his rescue from a certain bloodless death at the hands of a nest of vamps, and if it hadn’t been glaringly obvious to everyone but Jo that Pamela was seriously into the redhead, Dean might have entertained the idea of a crush for a minute or two. The hazel-eyed psychic was charming and magnetic, with a streak of crude humor that almost rivaled Dean’s own.

Jo on the other hand, was clearly jealous of the attention Charlie was paying the other girl. “Who does she even think she is? Just shows up one day all _psychic_ and now she’s all chummy with _my_ best friend.”

Dean stifled a laugh at the possessive tone and turned to look at his friend. “C’mon Jo, you know you’ll always be Charlie’s best friend. I uh- really don’t think Pamela wants to be Charlie’s _friend_.” He coughed.

Jo never took her eyes off the pair, tracking them as they made their way across the cafeteria. “Dude, you just read my mind.” She muttered absently.

Dean dropped his burger from where he’d been about to bite into it, staring open mouthed at Jo.

A smile slowly spread across his face.

“Jo, I’ll see you later. Be nice, okay?” He ignored her started look and called out a hasty goodbye to Charlie and Pamela as they approached the table before rushing off to the library for the second time that day.

**

“Is this the thing?” He bounced on his toes as he followed Cas around the library while he shelved books. “Dude, Cas. Is this the aspect thing? Cause I gotta say, if it is, it is _way_ better than a tail or horns.”

Cas raised an eyebrow and turned from where he was sliding a book into its place. “Dean, do try to calm down. I’m not entirely convinced that we should consider this genuine mind reading.” He pushed the cart of books further down the racks. “I’m sure you were most likely simply projecting your-“

Dean cut him off with a smirk. “Cas, when I walked in here a few minutes ago you had ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’ stuck in your head. I didn’t know you were into punk rock, Cas. Any other fun facts you feel like sharing?” He teased.

Cas turned to him with an astonished expression. “Of course! The creatures must be telepathic!”

Dean laughed. This aspect thing was turning out to be better than he could have ever expected. “I know, you just said so. That’s why they don’t need mouths. And yes, you should have known.”

Cas stared at him as he grinned cockily. “This is astounding.”

And then without opening his mouth Dean heard, loud and clear, “ _I am so buggered._ ”

***

“So Dean can hear our thoughts now? Like, every thought?” Jo asked in a strained voice. Castiel glanced in her direction, attempting to focus on the issue at hand while simultaneously keeping his own mind carefully blank.

Dean smirked from his perch on the checkout counter. “Every one.”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes, well. There must be some sort of precedence for something like this. We should begin researching immediately. Ash, would you assist me with searching the Web?”

The boy stretched as if limbering up and cracked his knuckles before lifting the top of his strange computer. “No problemo. Where you want me to start?”

Dean’s laughter rang out unexpectedly and Castiel turned at the sound.

“Joanna Beth Harvelle! You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

The girl sputtered. “Actually? Bye!” She leaped from her chair and dashed from the library, leaving the doors swinging cartoonishly in her wake.

“Jo has just illustrated something, quite well in fact. It is likely that you all will be thinking whatever you least wish for Dean to hear.” Castiel adjusted his tie. “It is of course, a question of mental discipline.” He studiously avoided looking at Dean.

Castiel could feel eyes on him as he began scouring the shelves for any relevant volumes, and was powerless to resist the magnetic pull of those curious, lambent eyes attempting to penetrate his innermost thoughts.

He suppressed a shudder and broke the eye contact.

“Pardon me – I believe I need to make a phone call. I shall be in my office.” He stammered before he ran like the coward he was.

**

Castiel could feel his resolve unraveling strand by strand with every minute spent in Dean’s presence.

All of the careful work he had done was slowly, inexorably being undone as he was forced to fight against the instinct to lay his thoughts and feelings bare instead of keeping them locked up behind chains and devil’s traps where they belonged.

But Dean seemed intent on catching him out, and with each day that passed he seemed to redouble his efforts when nothing was forthcoming. Every action, however innocent, seemed designed to lead Castiel down a wholly seductive path of inappropriate thoughts and images; Dean biting his lips, sucking on the cap of his pen as he studied, Dean bending at the waist to reach a low bookshelf, revealing smooth, velvety stretches of skin. And Christ, the eye contact. He could feel those eyes on him whenever his back was turned, and he feared what he might find in them if he allowed himself to look, almost as much as he craved it.

To say that he was highly motivated to find a cure for his hunter’s affliction was the understatement of the millennia.

***

Dean’s fists connected with the rubbery flesh of the training dummy over and over again as he tried to punch away his irritation. The ‘hearing people’s thoughts’ aspect thing had been fun at first, and he’d certainly used it to his advantage in more than one situation in the past few days; but the combination of what was starting to feel like an almost constant throbbing behind his eyes and the freaking black hole of silence surrounding Cas and his somehow un-hearable thoughts was leaving him feeling brittle and on edge. 

The hair on the back of his neck lifted and he tensed at the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He willed his body to relax back into his boxing stance and continued landing punches, all the while straining his every cell on trying to catch a stray thought from the man scrutinizing him from the doorway.

_“Get ahold of yourself, you pathetic arsehole.”_

Dean choked on a breath at the faint whisper in his head, punch glancing ineffectually off of the dummy. He spun to face Cas, only to find the space silent and empty as if the man had never been there.

And that was just fucking not happening.

His hands balled into fists at his sides and his jaw clenched. Clearly the Watcher was more affected than he was willing to let on, and Dean had had enough of waiting and wondering in the silence of maintaining the status quo.

***

Castiel sat with his head in his hands, castigating himself for being every single kind of fool. He hadn’t been able to resist watching Dean as he trained; wintertime in South Dakota left very few available spaces for his hunter to train besides the library or his home, and he’d stupidly deemed the library safer to Castiel’s sanity. At least in the library he had an office to escape to when the sight of sweat-beaded skin and the heated sounds of intent exertion left his mind spinning off into fantasies of those sights and sounds in much more compromising scenarios.

He jerked in his seat at the sound of hinges creaking and looked up to find Dean leaning against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest and a determined, stubborn expression on his face.

Castiel swallowed tightly. “Dean? What do you need? Have you finished training already?” He attempted to relax back into his chair and hooked a leg over his knee as casually as he thought he could as he turned to face the hunter.

“I want to know what your problem is.” Dean stated bluntly.

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“Don’t play games with me Cas. Why can’t I hear you?” Dean scowled. “I can hear everyone else, literally all of the time, even when I really wish I couldn’t; but I can’t hear _you_ and I want to know _why_ ”

Castiel’s heart began to race. “Dean, as I told you at the start of all of this, it is a matter of mental discipline. You cannot hear me, simply because I am not allowing you to.”

“And why is that? What are you hiding?” Dean challenged.

Castiel felt his own expression go flat. “A great many things, I should think.” He crossed his own arms, mirroring Dean. “This new power of yours does not entitle you to be privy to my every thought, Dean.”

The hunter scoffed. “Yeah, apparently, only the thoughts you have when you think I’m not listening.”

He froze. He hadn’t realized his control had slipped at all. What had Dean heard?

“What do you want from me, Dean? What do you want to know?”

He clenched his hands into fists when Dean slumped against the door with a huff, head tipped back, throat pale and exposed with the shadow of a dusky pink bite scar peeking out from beneath the white cotton collar.

“As if you’d actually tell me.” He muttered sullenly.

Castiel tore his eyes away from the hunter’s neck. “What wouldn’t I tell you Dean?”

Dean threw his hands up. “I never know what you’re thinking anymore, Cas. Even before this whole aspect thing, you were just –“ He shrugged. “After that night, you just put up this wall, man.” Castiel’s breath caught at the fierce brightness in Dean’s eyes as he lowered them finally. “And I’m done with it.”

Castiel felt powerless to look away as Dean’s hand reached out and flipped the lock with a decisive _snick_.

“What are you doing, Dean?”

He fought the urge to roll his chair backwards as far as it could go as the hunter stalked forward and into his space.

“I’m done with you keeping me at arm’s length.” His voice vibrated against Castiel’s skin as he leaned in and planted his hands on the arms of the chair.

Castiel’s fingers gripped tightly around Dean’s wrists, pinning him in place. “What do you think you’re doing, Dean?” He repeated, vocal register dipping dangerously into growl range. From half a foot away, he could see the moment Dean’s pupils blew wide, black swallowing brilliant green.

***

Dean felt his bones evaporating into steam at the clench of Cas’ fingers on his skin and the tone of his voice; it was all he could do not to give in to the whimper that wanted to crawl out of his throat.

He managed to keep his feet beneath him and not just fall to his knees. He crowded as close as he could without straight out crawling into Cas’ lap, back bent at an awkward angle with his arms still manacled at the wrists. He searched the Watcher’s face and swallowed at the hard, almost icy façade.

“Cas, please. _Let me in._ ” He rasped.

Cas shifted in the chair and Dean realized then that he was painfully, desperately hard in his sweats when the man’s knee grazed against him with a slow, deliberate drag. His eyes closed with a shudder and then there was breath at his ear. “Be careful what you wish for, Dean.”

An almost staticky silence crackled in his mind and then –

_“Look at me.”_ Cas’ voice commanded and Dean gasped, eyes flying open to find Cas watching him closely. _“Is this what you wanted, Dean? To hear me? To know my every thought? My deepest desires? Do you think you’re quite prepared for that?”_

Dean shivered at the silky caress of Cas’ voice in his head. “Cas. Yes.”

The Watcher’s head tilted as he considered Dean through dark, half-lidded eyes. _“Hmm. I wonder if you are. You don’t know me as well as you think, Dean. The things that I want. The things that I’ve done.”_

Dean bit his lip, somehow managing to get even harder as his mind raced with a light-speed montage of increasingly kinky scenarios. He pressed his hips closer, wanting the pressure of Cas’ knee for any small measure of relief.

Cas remained perfectly still, allowing Dean to push against him, but making no effort to help. The corner of his mouth lifted in a wicked smirk. _“You’re so very hard for me, aren’t you, Dean?”_

Dean whined, unconsciously leaning forward as his eyes focused on the Watcher’s mouth. He stopped mere centimeters short when Cas’ grip tightened on his wrists.

Dean pouted and strained against the hold.

_“Stop.”_

He swallowed hard at the tone but stopped all the same.

_“You want to know what thoughts I’ve been keeping from you, Dean? What I’ve been thinking of day and night since the moment you kissed me all those months ago? I think of being inside you, Dean, I dream of it. The desire to make you mine haunts my every waking thought, and in my dreams I can practically feel it. Feel how sweet, how tight, how delicious you would be as you take me in. How you’d beg. How you’ll scream.”_

Dean shuddered and felt himself pulse wetly in the confines of his underwear. “Cas.” He panted, wanting more, needing _more_.

_“Hmm, yes. You would take me so well, wouldn’t you Dean? You can be such a good boy when you want to be, can’t you?”_ The sensation of Cas in his mind, whispering to him while never moving his mouth to speak aloud was fucking him almost as thoroughly as he imagined the man would in the scene he was painting, and Dean was on fire with it.

“Cas, _please_.” He begged, too far gone to be ashamed by how easily it slipped from him.

“Fuck.” The bitten off curse was almost startling as it was released to the silence of the room. _“You want to beg me to fuck you, don’t you Dean? Right here, right now, you need it, don’t you? Spread out over my desk like the needy little thing you are?”_ Dean jerked, chest heaving, pinned to the spot by the Watcher’s luminous blue eyes and hanging on every word, body tightening as the orgasm began coiling at the base of his spine. _“Or perhaps up against the wall? The floor? Or maybe, right here in this chair. Do you want to climb into my lap Dean and ride my cock until you beg me to allow you to come?”_

Dean choked, hips grinding mindlessly, riding Cas’ knee as he felt the world, the room around him begin to fall away into nothing. He’d never needed anything so badly than to come in this moment, and Cas wasn’t even touching him beyond the steel grip of his fingers still around Dean’s wrists. He opened his mouth to beg for permission.

“God, Cas-“

His wrists were released unexpectedly and he nearly toppled before Cas’ hands fisted into his hair and dragged him down to crash their mouths together. The kiss stole his breath and seared him alive as Cas’ tongue shoved against his own and devoured him whole.

_“Come for me, Dean.”_ Cas demanded hotly without breaking their kiss and Dean could do nothing but obey.

***

Castiel savored the warm, pliant weight of Dean in his lap, a sweaty tangle of satisfied boy; his hands stroking aimlessly with comforting, grounding passes as his hunter slowly came back to his senses. He smiled softly and ran his fingers through damp, spiky hair when Dean blinked blearily up at him.

“Hello, Dean.” He said quietly, allowing his thumb to trace across the hunter’s bitten bottom lip briefly before pulling away.

Dean grinned almost bashfully and sucked his lip into his mouth as if trying to catch the taste of Castiel on his skin. He paused, narrowed eyes searching his with a frown. “I can’t hear you anymore.”

Castiel struggled not to squirm. From the minute Dean had slumped forward into his arms after screaming his way through a truly breathtaking orgasm, Castiel had been fighting to bring his mind under control. He feared what his heart might reveal in the wake of the moment he and Dean had just shared.

“No.” He held up a hand to quell the argument Dean was surely working up to. “I’m not trying to put walls up, Dean, but there are many things I cannot share with you. The nature of my position and our working relationship as hunter and Watcher depend on it.” He refused to listen to the voice in the back of his mind calling him every sort of coward and liar.

Dean’s frown turned petulant and he shifted in Castiel’s lap as he moved to get to his feet. Castiel watched as a bright red flush suffused the hunter’s cheeks, clearly only now becoming aware of the rather impressive wet patch at the front of his trousers. He glanced over his shoulder at Castiel; face a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. “I uh- guess I should go change before I head home.”

Castiel reached out without thinking and tugged Dean back into his lap, nuzzling the peachy soft patch of skin behind his ear with a soft growl. “No. Leave it.”

Dean laughed breathily and tilted his head to allow Castiel better access to his neck, wriggling his pert arse against the renewed erection suddenly pressed against his zipper. “You telling me to walk out of here and through the school, drive all the way home, and into my house where my brother and Bobby may or may not see me, covered in my own come, Cas? Kinky.” Dean purred, his eyebrow raised in amusement.

Castiel sputtered on air, face heating in mortification that he’d lost control of himself when he’d thought he’d buttoned it all back up. He gripped Dean’s hips tightly to put a stop to the maddening friction. “O-of course not, Dean. Do as you wish, please. I’d never mean to imply- oh bugger.” He dropped his head to Dean’s shoulder, which began shaking with silent laughter.

He resisted the instinct to wrap his arms around the hunter to keep him close when he slid intentionally slowly from his seat, only to find himself grabbing onto the arms of his chair when Dean flipped around with surprising speed and insinuated himself back into Castiel’s space. A knowing little smirk on that mouth and a wicked glint in those green eyes had him fearing for his self-control yet again.

“Mmm no, you’d never, would you? At least not before today, huh?” Dean’s breath ghosted across his lips as he leaned Castiel almost groaned aloud when Dean bypassed his mouth entirely to whisper in his ear. “Don’t hide from me, Cas.”

The kiss was firm and entirely too brief, leaving Castiel stunned into speechlessness when he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed to find the door closing behind his hunter and he was alone once more.

***

By the next afternoon, Dean’s head was full on pounding, headache raging between his ears no matter how many aspirin he swallowed. He’d forced himself to go out when his friends had called, hoping for a distraction from just sitting alone in his bedroom obsessing over what had happened with Cas, but he was regretting the decision with every minute that went by with the noise of people and their thoughts invading his brain.

He groaned and rubbed his temples, digging his fingertips into the tender skin to try to ease some of the tension, but there were so many fucking _thoughts_ , assaulting him from all sides unrelentingly. People brushed past him and might as well have screamed in his face, so loud were their whispered voices in his head.

He stopped mid-step and clutched at his head as the thoughts roared over him and sucked him under like a riptide. He couldn’t even distinguish one from the other, overlapped like endless waves crashing over and over again. He thought maybe he could hear thousands of voices, a million, more.

He fell to his knees screaming as the din came to a thundering crescendo and the world went black before he even hit the ground.

***

Castiel ran an exhausted hand through his hair as he stepped down onto the landing and crossed into Bobby’s study. Mindful of the boy sleeping fitfully on top of a pile of texts, he nodded to the older man to join him in the hallway.

“Any change?” Bobby queried, his concern clear despite his characteristic steady calmness.

Castiel shook his head. “He’s sleeping, thankfully, but I fear for his mind if this goes on for much longer.”

“That’s what happened with that Ecuadorian fella, right? The one your fancy-pants Watcher friend called you about? The power didn’t kill him, but it drove him shit-crazy and straight into a rubber room.” Bobby stroked his moustache with a shaking hand Castiel pretended not to see.

He swallowed and nodded. “That’s what he said, yes. Perhaps not so _colorfully_ , but...yes.”

He felt a steadying hand on his arms as his feet went out from him unexpectedly and lowered him to the bottom stair, guiding him to put his head between his knees. Bobby patted him awkwardly.

“We’ll figure it out, Cas. We always do.” He gruffly reassured.

Castiel’s head snapped up and he glared at the man with a hissed, “Oh yes, of course. No need to worry. Dean is slowly being driven mad, we have only a hazy idea of how to help him based on some scraps of text no one can translate, and even if it _might_ work, it still requires the heart of the second creature, _which_ I might remind you; we have no idea how to find without Dean.”

Bobby only gave him raised eyebrows and a look that expressed how thoroughly unimpressed he was with Castiel’s attitude. “Pessimism don’t solve jack, Castiel.” He said starchily and then rolled his eyes. “And besides, that Ash is looking just as hard as anyone for any way to track it. Then maybe you can take that stick the Watcher’s Council shoved up your ass and ram it through its ass instead.”

****

Sam shifted for the hundredth time on the hardwood floor outside of Dean’s bedroom where he had set up watch, listening through the door for his brother’s restless thrashing that came more and more frequently now.

He swallowed a squeak when a throat cleared from above him and a steaming bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk were handed down to him.

He dug sleepily into the thick, creamy oats and Bobby sighed.

“Boy, did you get any sleep?” His uncle asked.

Sam bit his lip and paused to listen when a pained groan sounded from the other side of the door. He sniffed. “Bobby, I can’t stand thinking I’m hurting him with my thoughts, but I can’t leave him alone. He shouldn’t be alone...” He sniffed harder and shoved a scalding spoonful in his mouth to stop himself from blubbering. Dad had always hated it when he cried like a baby, and he had to be strong for Dean now.

Bobby squeezed his shoulder but thankfully didn’t mention the crying.

“You aren’t hurting him, Sam. Not anymore. He can’t hear one thought more than any others.”

Before he could open his mouth to argue, the sound of the front door crashing open interrupted whatever he was about to say. He scrambled to his feet, oatmeal flying forgotten to land with a splat on the floor Bobby was certain to yell at him for later and chased after Bobby’s racing footsteps down the stairs to find Dean’s Watcher in the doorway covered nearly head to toe in what looked like black tactical gear clutching a jar of slime coated flesh, looking somewhat scary and disheveled but triumphant.

Sam’s heart pounded with the thrill of adrenaline and hope.

Dean was going to be okay.

Dear God, he prayed, please let Dean be okay.

****

Dean woke with a start from a fitful sleep full of whispers to find himself in Cas’ arms, the Watcher pulling him up to hold a glass mason jar that sloshed sickeningly with some concoction of the nastiest shit Dean had ever had the misfortune to smell or taste to his lips. He gagged and tried to shove it away, but Cas held steady, tipping the mouth of the jar into his mouth again and again until he was forced to swallow or choke. He swallowed weakly until Cas was satisfied and thankfully took it away to let him rest against his shoulder.

He glowered at Cas blearily, mouth tasting like cigarette ash and sewer water. “Goddamn, Cas that was fucking disgusting.”

Despite feeling like his tongue was about to sprout toxic mold, he could feel the exhaustion and noise creeping back in and he curled around Cas’ body with a sigh.

When he started convulsing, he could just about manage to hear Cas’ voice above the tide of the rest, shouting for help.

***

Castiel sat staring into the deepening dusk through the thin curtains over Dean’s window, bone tired and trying not to give into despair as hour after hour crept past with Dean laying still and silent as the grave.

For the first time in years, Castiel prayed to God, to any god great or small who might listen for his hunter to recover. He doubted himself a thousand times, and a thousand times over again, poring over every line of hastily translated text for wherever he had gone wrong. Had the mixture been off, had they missed something crucial somewhere along the way in their panicked brewing?

He rubbed his gritty eyes and began to draw the text toward him once again when a small sound drew his attention to the bed.

He choked on his relief at the sight of Dean’s eyes blinking open and he flew to the hunter’s bedside, needing to touch him to believe what he was seeing.

“Cas?” Dean questioned hoarsely and then coughed, throat working as he tried to clear it. Castiel fumbled at the nightstand for a glass of water and helped Dean to sit with trembling hands to drink. He spluttered and pushed Cas’ hand away.

“Dean, thank God. How are you feeling?” He paused, almost afraid to ask what came next. “Are you- Can you hear thoughts?”

His heart pounded as Dean’s face screwed up and his head tilted as if to listen. His breath stopped when his hunter opened his eyes and a cautious grin spread across his perfect mouth. “Huh. Nope.”

The glass of water shattered as it hit the floor, but neither he nor Dean paid it any notice as Castiel took that grinning mouth in an equally shattering kiss.

“Cas-“ Dean gasped, pushing him back just far enough to see his face. “I can’t hear you anymore so you have to tell me. Please, Cas, tell me.”

Castiel buried his face in the warm bend of Dean’s neck and decided to leap. He kissed his way up the lightly stubbled jaw and pressed his forehead against Dean’s before he opened his mouth to say what he had been most terrified for his hunter to hear in the depths of his mind.

“Dean, oh _Christ_ , Dean, _I love you_.”

***

Monday morning found Dean and Charlie wandering through the halls as if the last week had never happened. Dean had a lightness to his step and had to stop himself from grinning like a madman every five seconds.

Charlie snorted and elbowed him playfully. “I take it you and Cas talked things out. Or something.”

Dean didn’t even try not to laugh at her suggestively waggling eyebrows. “Something like that. We talked...sort of, then he ripped out the heart of a monster and fed it to me, and then we talked some more.”

Charlie’s nose scrunched up. “Romantic.” She stuck out her tongue but then dissolved into giggles at the beaming smile on Dean’s face.

Dean stopped short, panting and breathless from laughing as his eyes found Cas standing against the Library doors with a decided sparkle in his blue eyes.

Charlie nudged him ungently and stage whispered dramatically in his ear. “Go to him, Dean. Go.”

He rolled his eyes at her despite the blush heating his cheeks and waited until she turned the corner and made one last ‘shooing’ gesture in Cas’ direction.

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and watched for a moment as Cas’ eyes zeroed in on the action and darkened, his thoughts as evident on his face as if they’d been whispered silkily into his ear.

And then Dean did as he’d been bid and went to his man, with no thought in his head but what he would do when he had the Watcher to himself. 

****

Mayor Nick D’iavolo returned to his office after spending a nearly interminable afternoon escorting a small herd of schoolchildren around City Hall. They had come for a field trip, of course, learning about government and all of its branches and levels; and as Mayor of Sioux Falls, Nick was expected to do his small part in educating the young minds of his town.

There had been one particularly bright young man that shone out above his bored, dullard peers, and he had chattered excitedly with clerks and pages and secretaries about everything he had seen. His exuberance was fascinating and Nick found himself asking the youngster for his name.

He felt a thrill when the boy beamed up at him and said, “Sam Winchester, sir!” Nick shook the boy’s extended hand gravely and nodded; eager for the noisome children to depart so he could make his plans in peace.

A short time later, Nick sat at his desk and dialed the number for the yellow-eyed demon.

“Azazel, listen to me carefully. If you follow my next instructions exactly, you shall be rewarded handsomely. I believe I have discovered the _perfect_ bait to lay our trap.”


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *foghorn sounds* here there be porn, y'all. also a heaping spoonful of pain and angst, because that's what i do. enjoy! :D
> 
> chapter content warnings: violence involving guns, explicit sex (not underage), hurt/no comfort, emotional angst (possibly wangsty), action/fight scenes, graphic depictions of gore/death, character death (temporary)

_-January-_

Soft candlelight flickered in the intimate setting, remnants of a sumptuous meal scattered along the length of the low table beside the couch. Impassioned grunts and the fleshy sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the room as the occupants came together over and over in a fight for dominance.

Dean executed a perfect roll over the back of the couch, dragging Cas with him with his hands fisted in his shirt. He used every muscle in his thighs to throw him, sending cheese and fruit flying as he landed with a crash on the table.

The Watcher sprung up from the wreckage of their romantic picnic with a dark smile and lunged, but Dean managed to duck in time and slip away with limber agility, eyes alight with excitement at the thrill of the chase.

He did not count on tripping over a toppled cushion in his backward retreat, and he took his eyes off of Cas for a fraction of a second to avoid braining himself on the mantle. It was the advantage the man needed to gain the upper hand and with a punched out breath, Dean found himself flat on his back with the full weight of the Watcher stretched out atop him.

He licked his lips and considered his predicament. He could feel the hard length of Cas pressed against his hip and he raised one bare foot to hook over Cas’ back, bringing them even closer together. He arched his back with a soft moan, stretching his neck to the side, knowing exactly the spot to which the man’s eyes would be drawn. His hot, greedy mouth was sure to follow.

Dean felt a rush of triumph as Cas took the bait, falling upon him with a possessive growl. Dean slid his fingers into Cas’ hair, inviting him to bite and suck at his throat as if it were a personal mission from God to leave Dean marked for eternity. He raised his other leg and gripped Cas’ hips firmly between his knees, gasping at the feeling of their bodies pressed so tightly together.

He swiftly rolled, flipping their positions until he was left poised over the Watcher, pinning him to the rug with his body. Cas looked up at him from the floor with an eyebrow raised and eyes gone black with lust, and Dean could feel the man’s muscles tensing as if to move to return the favor.

Dean tut-tutted him with a wide grin, pressing against the tender skin of his Adam’s apple with the knife he’d hidden in an ankle sheath.

Cas relaxed his body, resting back on the carpet with a fiercely proud look that warred with the arousal still smoldering in his eyes. “Well done, Dean.” He purred.

Dean preened for a moment before tucking the knife away again, leaning down to soothe the mark the steel had made on the pale skin of the Watcher’s neck with his tongue. “Satisfied, Cas?”

Dean was suddenly staring up at Cas from the floor, stunned, both wrists captured in one of the Watcher’s and Dean hissed as teeth nipped at his earlobe.

“Oh, _Dean_.” Cas chuckled darkly, leaving Dean shuddering in anticipation. “Not even close. _Dean-“_

**

“ _Dean!”_ The exasperated tone yanked Dean out of his steamy daydream like a bucket of ice water over his head.

He blinked at his Watcher frowning at him from the other side of the table with his hands on his hips, and he had the distinct feeling he’d been saying his name for a while now.

“You weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention, were you Dean?” Cas demanded.

Dean flushed, he could still see the training scene he’d been fantasizing about and it was definitely preferable to sitting here at this table for the fourth hour straight being quizzed about _crystals_ of all things like he was some kind of New Age weirdo.

He shifted to sit up straight in his chair and willed his cock to relax and wait its turn.

“No, sure, Cas. Totally have my undivided attention.” He insisted, giving the Watcher the full power of his most earnest, convincing look.

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh do I indeed? Very well then, perhaps you can tell me what this stone is?” He pointed to a jagged purple crystal near the edge of the table.

“Uh- Amethyst?” Dean guessed.

“And it is used for?” Cas encouraged.

Dean was blanking, his knowledge exhausted already. “Breath mints?” He peeked up at Cas from beneath his lashes and upped the wattage on his best, most charming grin.

Cas sighed and tugged his glasses from his face to pinch his nose between his fingers. “Dean, I’m aware that you find studying vibratory stones to be dull, but it _is_ an important part of your training, so I would appreciate your sarcasm-free attention.” The man settled his glasses back in place and fixed Dean with a stern look.

Dean sighed and swiped a large, vaguely phallic looking crystal from the table, running it through his fingers just to give himself something to fiddle with.

“Sorry Cas, really. I’m just a little...” he wrapped his hand around the pointed tip of the crystal and let it slide through the loose circle of his fist with a twist. “wound up, I guess. I feel like I should be out patrolling but it’s been crickets out there for weeks.” He glanced up innocently and fought a smirk to see the Watcher’s eyes trained on his hands.

Cas cleared his throat and glanced away. Dean doubted he was the only one feeling wound up at the moment, and he was willing to bet it had nothing to do with crystals or demons or lack thereof.

“Yes, well, that certainly is...frustrating.” He adjusted his tie and smoothed it down unnecessarily. “I’m certain something will turn up soon.”

Dean huffed and slumped down in his chair. “I guess so.”

He heard the metallic sound of Cas’ pocket watch being flipped open and shut. “All in due time, Dean.” Cas said and Dean looked up to catch the meaningful, almost longing look in the man’s eyes before he cleared his throat. “But, for the present,” Dean groaned as the Watcher selected a large stone and placed it directly in front of him with a thunk. “If it isn’t entirely beyond your capabilities, do try to concentrate.”

Dean sighed and stared dutifully forward.

***

_“You’re having doubts.”_

Naomi sighed disapprovingly into his ear. “Now is not the time to falter, Castiel. We are nearing a crucial point in our preparations for the months to come; you must not allow yourself to lose faith or momentum.”

Castiel ground his teeth. “What you have asked of me is manipulative in the very least, and I fail to see the necessity of it. He knows nothing of the prophecies, and allowing him to walk blindly toward his supposed destiny? I don’t like it. If the board members of the Council still had actual contact with hunters, worked beside them, they might realize how cruel it is. I am the one who must keep this from my hunter, knowledge that might help him when it matters most.” Castiel fought to keep his voice deferential despite his growing irritation.

“It is for that reason precisely that you are not qualified to make this decision. You are too close.”

Castiel held his tongue, for if she only knew how true that statement was, he’d be out on his arse immediately.

“Close interpersonal ties between hunters and Watchers have historically led to biased influences in these instances, and we will not allow that to happen this time, Castiel. The fates of many rely on the outcome of this prophecy, and in the end Dean will likely be stronger for it.” She sounded perfectly reasonable and it infuriated him.

“Or he’ll be dead for it.” He muttered mulishly.

“Castiel, remember why you were tasked with training this particular hunter. If he is truly everything you have said he is, you should have nothing to worry about.” She sighed again as if sensing his reticence. “I feel I must remind you that you are expressly forbidden from interfering in any way.”

He accepted the reproach and reassured her mechanically, knowing his acquiescence was of little to no importance to the Council, only his obedience.

He ended the call as quickly as possible, needing a stiff drink and to release some of the tension that seemed to hover over him like an ominous dark cloud of foreboding. 

****

Azazel pushed open the creaky, splintered door of the dilapidated old farmhouse that had been chosen as the headquarters of their on the ground operations. He glanced around at the dusty, cobwebbed corners and rodent-chewed remnants of furniture with disgust. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t hunkered down from time to time in one shithole or another, but this seemed almost insulting, as if the untouchable Mister Mayor upon high had purposely chosen this place to once again flex his muscles to prove who the big dog around these parts was.

Azazel would never be the one to say so, but he knew who held the real power in Sioux Falls, the true Machiavellian genius behind the throne. He doubted the human Mayor had any idea how terrifying his ‘daughter’ actually was. Lilith was a fucking legend downstairs, a demonic boogeyman of mythic proportions. The fact that she purposely chose to wear the meat of sweet faced girls only added to her terrifying appeal. 

Regardless, he would kowtow and bow and scrape until his moment came, like any good demon worth his salt would, so here he was. And really, he couldn’t deny that the toadying did come with some fantastic perks.

Ah, the Winchesters.

He’d long ago stopped trying to parse out his near fanatical obsession with that family, for now, he’d just enjoy the opportunity to play with them once again. And oh, little Sammy, how patiently he’d waited for the chance to get him in his sights again. Perhaps there was a richer reward to be squeezed from this little bait and switch operation than he’d initially thought, though he’d wisely keep that to himself for the moment.

He had a party to prepare for after all.

****

Dean couldn’t sleep, too on edge to lie beneath his cold covers and drift off. He thought about sneaking out to do some patrolling, but he doubted he’d be able to get past Bobby at this time of night without a full scale interrogation.

He was hours away from his birthday and he could feel the anticipation building with each passing minute. He knew it was wholly irrational, knew that in the end it wasn’t going to be some magical thing wherein the clock struck midnight and Cas would appear like some kind of birthday satyr and ravish him on the spot, but dammit, a boy could dream.

They’d been cautiously exploring each other since the Aspect Incident, since Cas took him in his arms when he awoke free of the influence of the thoughts of others and confessed his feelings, but honestly there’d been a lot more conversation and a lot less heavy petting than Dean had hoped for. For the first time, though, he felt like there were no secrets between them, nothing bottled up and hidden away like a Molotov cocktail with a slow burning fuse ready to blast a crater in what they’d begun to build, and that could only be a good thing.

He knew of course there was and would remain a need to be careful. Cas was still his Watcher, and in the eyes of the school board, for all intents and purposes a teacher, but Dean didn’t really care anymore. He knew he wanted Cas, and that Cas wanted him. That was all he needed to know, they would work out the rest together.

He sighed and rolled onto his belly, shivering at the feeling of his half-hard cock pressed against the sheets and decided to revisit his little training fantasy; this time without crystals or untimely interruptions.

***

Castiel shivered in his coat as he waited for the door to be opened in the shelter of the drooping porch. The last several days had been a constant mental tug-of-war between eagerness and trepidation. He’d attempted to keep his desire for Dean tempered in the face of the vaguely looming deadline of the prophecy that his hunter apparently was to play a key role in, but he was struggling. Especially now, preparing to spend the evening celebrating Dean’s eighteenth birthday. He was excruciatingly aware of the fact that Dean was now of age and despite the complicated nature of their relationship, he couldn’t deny that he was keen to begin exploring the physical aspects more freely.

The door opened and he relaxed at the warmth radiating toward him, though whether that was due to the indoor heating or emanating entirely from the grinning, delicious, green-eyed fever dream standing before him, he couldn’t say. Dean’s eyes sparkled and his gaze dragged over him from head to toe.

“Stripper-gram?” Dean said flirtatiously, forcing Castiel backward as he stepped out and drew the door closed behind him. He looked up at Castiel and smirked. “It’s my birthday, did you know?”

He swallowed roughly against the sudden, dry-mouthed urge to take him right then and there, party be damned. “Dean go back inside, it’s positively arctic out here.”

Dean’s hands took hold of his lapels and dragged him close. “You’ll keep me warm, won’t you Cas?” He purred, the teasing tone drawing a faint growl from Castiel’s throat. He crowded the hunter against the weathered door, cupping the base of his skull as he took that wicked mouth in a deep, hard kiss. Heat rose between them as it drew out languorously. He nipped at Dean’s bottom lip and he felt himself harden fully at the needy whimper that was released into the air. Castiel’s hands slid down the length Dean’s back to palm his perfect arse and squeezed, pressing them together from chest to thigh and nearly shuddering at the pressure against his cock.

Dean’s fingers tangled into his hair and sucked his tongue into his mouth, and Castiel was half a minute away from rutting them both to messy, fantastic completion right there against the door. The muffled sound of voices filtered through the haze of arousal and he tore his mouth from Dean’s, watching in frozen panic as the door knob began to twist.

Dean huffed as he pulled them away from the door and had barely stepped back enough to put a handful of inches between their bodies when the door was yanked open.

“Christ boy, what’s the holdup? You checkin’ for an engraved invitation now?” Bobby grunted. “Your brother’s gonna vibrate himself into another dimension if you don’t get your ass back in here and open his gift in the next ten seconds.”

Dean snorted, somehow managing to look entirely unruffled except for his bitten, kiss-swollen mouth and slipped past Bobby, aiming a cheeky wink over the older hunter’s shoulder and leaving Castiel to fend for himself.

Castiel flushed in mortification as the man simply crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, hardly missing the disheveled state of his hair and rucked up coat. He cleared his throat, scrambling for something, anything to say.

The man rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Just get in here already.” He stepped back to allow Castiel to pass with a muttered “ _Idjits_.”

***

Dean was full of pie and slightly awkward warm, squirmy feelings and he thought he might actually be happy. Crumpled wrapping paper was scattered everywhere and a small haul of thoughtful gifts were piled on the battered coffee table before him. It had been a long time since anyone but Sammy had made a big deal out of his birthday and it felt strange and new to have so many people genuinely invested in celebrating it.

Charlie and Jo hadn’t held back when it came to planning this little get together and Bobby had pretended to reluctantly give in to their insistence on decorating the room with dozens of shiny silver and black balloons.

He scooped the last bite of cherry pie into his mouth with a satisfied groan and licked his lips. He stopped mid-lick as a prickle of awareness shivered across his skin. He glanced to the side and found Cas’ eyes fixed intently on his mouth and felt a rush of heat at the naked hunger on the man’s face. God, he needed to get Cas alone again, and soon, or he was going to explode.

He ripped his attention away, desperately needing to calm down before he gave in and just jumped the man right then and there. He glanced down at the amulet hanging from its leather cord around his neck. His brother had presented it to him almost reverently and had anxiously waited as Dean had peeled apart overzealous layers of Sunday funnies and scotch tape. The horned bronze talisman was definitely unique and Dean had a feeling Bobby had given Sam free reign to dig around in his box of assorted paraphernalia in lieu of taking him to the mall for a gift. He loved it.

Dean startled when Bobby cleared his throat abruptly from the doorway, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. The old man went red and shuffled his cap on his head. Dean hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up and left the room at some point, but his focus was drawn to brown wrapped package clutched in his hands.

“Aww Bobby, you shouldn’t have.” Dean laid a hand over his heart and batted his eyes.

He laughed when Bobby shoved the box at him with a rough grunt, expression distinctly uncomfortable. “Just open it ya idjit.”

Dean examined the package in his lap, shaking it a little in curiosity. It was surprisingly heavy and the plain, square box gave away no clues. He shrugged and tore into the wrapping, eyes widening as he lifted the lid to reveal a gleaming pistol nestled in between wadded up newspaper.

He looked up in stunned wonder. “Bobby...where did you get this?” He asked quietly. He trailed a fingertip over the intricate engravings on the barrel. “It’s gotta be worth a mint, man. It’s gorgeous.”

Bobby cleared his throat and shuffled his cap again. “It wasn’t easy to find, that’s true. Wasn’t actually sure it weren’t more’n a legend your daddy dug up in an old hunter’s journal, but there you have it.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Dad was looking for this?” He glanced down at the pistol in awe. “Wait, legend?”

Bobby nodded. “Your daddy found an old journal of Samuel Colt’s. Colt made the gun himself apparently, and legend goes that the bullets could kill anything, even demons.” Bobby shrugged. “Don’t know if it works for sure, but your daddy was convinced and he searched for that thing for years. Least I could do after he passed was to do what I could to find it for him. Knew he’d want you to have it, if it existed.”

Dean felt his breath stop cold. “Demons? You mean-“

“It could kill the demon.” Cas’ voice was stunned, and Dean caught his look from across the room. He felt a thrill run through him as the Watcher’s eyes went fierce. “Dean, if this legend is accurate...this could _kill_ the Yellow-Eyed demon.”

Dean’s fingers wrapped around the handle of the Colt, feeling the weight of it in his palm as he lifted it from the box. The metal warmed against his skin, and he imagined he could feel it whispering to him, eager to chase the revenge that’d been burning within him since that November night all those years ago. It seemed like fate.

***

Castiel slipped quietly from the living room where the party had wound down significantly. Bobby had excused himself hours ago when the teenagers had insisted on pressing his dated television into service for a movie marathon. He knew he probably should have done the same, eager as he was to begin researching the legend of Samuel Colt and the demon-destroying pistol, but he was reluctant to leave while Dean was so preoccupied.

He wandered in the direction of the kitchen, pausing in the doorway at the sight of Dean running his hands over the Colt, eyebrows drawn together in thought. He crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around his hunter’s waist, propping his chin on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked softly.

Dean hummed and relaxed against Castiel’s chest, one hand dropping to rest on his. “Nothing. No, really.” He said when Castiel tightened his arms. “It just seems too easy. All I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember is to find a way to get rid of Yellow Eyes, I never thought I’d actually have a chance. Things don’t just _happen_ like this, not for me.” He shrugged in Castiel’s grip.

Castiel sighed, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to Dean’s temple. “Good things do happen, Dean. We’ll do our research, as usual. And, if the legend turns out to be nothing more than that, well, then we will find another way. I promise you we will.”

Dean turned in his arms with a soft smile. He laid the gun down on the countertop with reverence before lifting his hands to Castiel’s face to bring their foreheads together. “Thank you, Cas.” He murmured, and then he was lowering his mouth for a kiss; a sweet, tender kiss, so completely different from the urgency of their last kiss, but no less affecting for its gentleness. Castiel felt himself hardening in his trousers as the seconds passed in a haze, and he sucked in a breath at the sudden press of an answering hardness against his thigh.

Dean licked into his mouth with a groan, turning the kiss from sweet to filthy in the space of a heartbeat, fingers clenching into Castiel’s skin. He backed Dean to the edge of the counter, not stopping to care about where they were before lifting the hunter to sit, insinuating himself between thighs that fell open in silent invitation.

Dean’s head fell back with a gasp, a shaky moan slipping from between his bruised lips. His fingers stroked into Castiel’s hair, the feeling of nails scraping against his scalp leaving him tingling. “Cas,” Dean whispered throatily. “Come upstairs with me. Please, God I want you so much.”

Castiel leaned back, body taut with frantic need. “Dean, are you-“

A shrill alarm suddenly screamed out from the living room and they froze at Ash’s urgent shout.

“Dean! Cas? Come quick! Demons on the radar out of nowhere, Jesus, where did they come from?!”

Dean jumped down from the counter, snatching up the Colt and darted from the kitchen, Castiel at his heels.

They would have time for the rest later; _this_ was the moment they had been waiting for.

***

Dean panted, ragged breaths that caught piercing and sharp in his chest as he collapsed on Cas’ sofa.

It had been a trap. God, they had been so stupid just charging in there with a half-assed plan and a gun that for all they’d known could have been as useless as brandishing a cross at a vampire.

Ash had pinpointed the sudden convergence of demons to an abandoned warehouse at the other end of town and Cas and Dean had grabbed as many weapons as they could carry and hauled ass, Bobby on their heels in his death-trap of a pickup. They’d burst into the warehouse to find it suspiciously empty, but they’d searched the place from top to bottom anyway, in the name of being thorough.

This was, of course, right when the demons came out to play. They’d been cornered as far away from the lone exit as possible, dozens of black eyed bastards spilling out from the woodwork, one after the other. Dean had never seen so many demons at once, and he’d been certain they were done for then and there.

The only tally in the plus column turned out to be that the Colt actually _worked_.

He and Cas had been fighting back to back to the door, giving Bobby the chance to break free, when the Watcher was yanked away by a massive demon hell-bent on choking the life out of him with one ham sized fist around his neck. Dean had aimed and fired without a second thought and to the surprise of everyone, human and demon alike, the demon flashed with a blinding light _from the inside_ and exploded into flaming chunks of ash. The surprise alone was probably what saved them in the end, the demons frozen in mortal terror for long enough that they were able to break free and run flat out for the Impala.

Dean had pushed the gas pedal to the floorboards and gunned it, tires screaming and fishtailing half the distance to Cas’ house.

The other man slumped onto the sofa next to him with a pained grunt and Dean rolled his head to look him over. Cas was bleeding from a cut at his temple and his neck was blossoming with a necklace of deep, purpling bruises. Dean shifted up onto to his knees, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles and reached for Cas, fingers ghosting over the raw marks in concern. Cas’ hands wrapped around his wrists to still him and Dean choked on a sound of distress.

_Fuck_. He’d come so close to losing Cas and he didn’t know how to swallow back the panic that was rising inside him like a black wave.

Gentle hands on his face lifted his eyes to Cas’ and before he could think, he was on him; mouth desperate, fingers digging into shoulders as if to ground himself, to make himself believe that Cas was here with him and in one whole, if battered, piece.

Cas moaned hoarsely and fisted a hand into his hair, tugging his head back sharply to drag his open mouth down Dean’s throat and bit down hard enough to make him scream, rolling his hips in a filthy grind, cock pulsing against his zipper in time with his racing heartbeat. He could feel Cas like an iron brand beneath his ass and Christ, he’d never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He gasped. “Cas, please. Please, I need you.”

Cas palmed his cock and squeezed, and Dean thought he might come right then. He whispered into the damp skin of Dean’s throat. “What do you need, Dean?” Dean whined when his earlobe was sucked into Cas’ mouth. “Tell me.” The man husked.

Dean ground down against Cas’ cock and the man hissed, fist tightening in his hair with a growl. “Want you to fuck me, Cas. Need it. Need _you._ Fuck!”

He swallowed a yelp when he was lifted bodily, clutching onto Cas’ shoulders as the man carried him with impressive strength to the staircase. Halfway up, Cas’ legs buckled and Dean dropped with a jolt ass first onto the steps, but it didn’t make a ripple in the sea of need roaring through him. He grabbed onto Cas by the lapels of his waistcoat and dragged him down to slam their mouths together hungrily. He felt the vibration of Cas’ groan against his lips and he was hauled to his feet by the back of his jeans.

He panted for breath when they broke apart, and he stared down at Cas from six inches away, air sizzling between them at the predatory look in the Watcher’s eyes. He backed up a step without breaking eye contact and the blue gaze sharpened, a soft growl filling the silence as Dean’s breath caught. He bit his lip as the tension grew and he could practically hear the man’s voice in his head daring him to try to run.

He never could resist a challenge.

***

They stumbled through the bedroom door with Castiel’s mouth attached to the hunter’s neck and hands determined as he tore Dean’s shirt over his head, eager to feel the heat of smooth skin beneath his palms. Dean twisted out of his grip just as Castiel had managed to rip open his belt and fly and turned to shove him back onto the bed with a bounce. The hunter grinned down at him, emerald eyes luminous despite the dim light from the landing, before dropping to his knees, pushing between Castiel’s thighs with obvious intent. Castiel’s fingers dug into Dean’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss, groaning at the feeling of hands brushing firmly over him, freeing his cock with a grunt of triumph against his lips. Castiel’s eyes rolled backward at the fingers wrapping around him like hot crushed silk. Dean stroked him maddeningly slowly, thumb circling against the damp, swollen head.

“Wanna taste you, Cas.” The hunter breathed into his mouth and Castiel was not remotely inclined to say no.

The incredible heat that enveloped him had him scrabbling for the swiftly unraveling strands of his self-control, already gaspingly close to the edge from anticipation alone. His nails scraped against Dean’s scalp as Dean swallowed him down, cockhead nudging at the back of his throat. He thrust his hips involuntarily and the hunter choked, gagging deliciously around Castiel’s cock. He pulled off with a wet cough, hand dragging through saliva as it trailed pornographically from his reddened lips. Castiel stared down at Dean and was struck with an urgent need to have the boy naked and open and begging beneath him.

He surged up from the bed, cock hard enough to hammer nails and dripping from Dean’s mouth, hauling the hunter up from his knees by his hair, releasing him only to shove both hands down the back of his jeans to take two firm handfuls of arse. Dean yelped in surprise as he was dumped onto the bed and stripped from his remaining clothing in one move. Castiel shrugged out of his ruined suit and watched as Dean relaxed into the mattress, spread out over Castiel’s pillows like a work of art, thighs parted like an offering.

He felt a growl rise in his throat as he turned from collecting supplies to find his hunter with his flushed cock in hand, stroking slowly, bottom lip trapped between his teeth coquettishly. He crawled onto the bed, mattress dipping beneath him as he fit himself between Dean’s open thighs.

“What do you think you’re doing, Dean?” Castiel purred, watching Dean shiver, his strokes picking up speed as he looked up at Castiel. Castiel planted one hand beside the hunter’s head, leaning down to nip at his earlobe as he wrapped the fingers of the other around Dean’s and squeezed. “That’s mine tonight, boy.”

***

Dean whimpered as Cas began stroking his cock with his own hand, eyes hot and possessive as he rose up to take him in. He felt himself melt into the bedspread, more than willing to let the Watcher take control. A satisfied smile softened the man’s face and he was rewarded with a long, slow stroke of their hands on his cock.

Dean whined when Cas removed his hand, but he lifted his arms over his head in surrender, leaving himself exposed and at the man’s mercy.

He dropped a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth when Dean kept his hands obediently in place. “Good boy.”

Dean sucked in a breath as Cas’ lips slid down his throat and lower, burning trails of heat sending tremors of sensation throughout his body. A tight nipple was sucked into the Watcher’s mouth and nipped sharply, making him arch and moan for more. Cas drew feather light fingertips down his skin in soft caresses, dipping down between his thighs to stroke teasingly over the sensitive, tender skin.

“Please, Cas, touch me.” He pleaded. He could feel Cas’ smirk against his navel.

“I am touching you, love.” Cas mouthed at his skin and continued touching him everywhere but where he needed it. Dean spread his legs wider and rolled his hips up, pushing into Cas’ hands, urging him to move lower. The man hummed against his skin. “Oh, I see.” His fingers stroked softly against Dean’s perineum, so close, yet so far, and Dean wriggled.

“ _Cas_...” Dean was inches away from begging when a dry fingertip circled his hole and he tensed, waiting breathlessly as it pressed ever so slightly against the tight ring.

“Is this what you need, Dean?” Cas murmured.

“Cas, please, _yes_. Need you.” He sighed.

Hands at his hips urged him over onto his belly and he drew his knees beneath him, arching his back and leaving himself exposed and aching to be opened and filled, finally.

***

Castiel stared down at the vision laid out before him and choked on a tidal wave of desire to simply fall on his hunter and _take_ and _devour_ and _possess_ until they were both screaming and satisfied. Dean was so unashamed in his need and Castiel was loath to keep him waiting any longer.

He stroked hands that shook over Dean’s upturned arse, dipping his thumbs into the crease to spread him open further. His hunter moaned and he felt the muscles beneath his palms tense and release, watched the dusky furl of his hole wink and shiver under his hungry appreciation. He teased his thumb over it and groaned as the need to taste rose and dragged him under in a riptide current of lust.

“Oh, _fuck_ Cas. Are you-“ Dean cried out into the pillows as Castiel bent and swiped a mouth-watering stripe from his balls to tailbone. Unwilling to draw out the teasing any longer, he opened his mouth and fell to his task, tongue working in tight circles and long slow strokes, softening the tight muscle with every touch. Dean’s hips rolled and he growled, nipping at the tender skin and grasping tightly onto the hunter’s hips to hold him still. He felt a surge of pleasure tingle through him as Dean whined and pleaded wordlessly for more. He’d longed for this moment, the two of them moving together as if they were made for each other, as if they knew exactly where and how to touch because Dean was his and he was Dean’s.

He felt his cock brush damp and ignored against the back of Dean’s thigh, thrusting himself over the softly-haired stretch of skin. He pointed his tongue and dipped into the gently clenching hole, testing. Dean swore viciously, muffled by the pillowcase and Castiel felt the muscle yield in intoxicating surrender.

Castiel rose up on his knees and reached for the oil he’d dropped onto the sheets, unable to restrain himself for another minute. Dean whined and rolled his head on the pillow, staring over his shoulder with eyes that burned into Castiel’s soul. He stroked a reassuring hand over Dean’s flank and lifted the bottle so his hunter could see. Dean shivered, eyes closing briefly before opening again, glittering with need. He nodded and shifted on his knees, back arching impossibly further and drawing Castiel’s attention to where his hunter’s skin still glistened with wetness from Castiel’s mouth. He fumbled the cap off of the bottle and dripped far too much oil over his fingers, slicking practically his entire hand and halfway down his arm besides.

He breathed shakily as he slipped a finger inside, heated and slick and perfect around him and he desperately wanted it to be his cock instead. But soon, soon enough he’d be sliding in deep where he belonged. Now, he could take the time to be patient. He stroked firmly, evenly, pushing back in with two fingers when he felt Dean loosen even more. He crooked his fingers, searching for the spot that would drive his hunter wild. Dean cried out and Castiel bared his teeth in victory.

***

“God, _fuck_ Cas! More.” Dean was on fire, every cell and nerve in his body alight and singing. He needed Cas more, harder, deeper, but the Watcher seemed content to take his time, playing him like a fiddle, drawing out every little sound Dean didn’t know he was capable of making. He shouted again as Cas’ fingers struck his prostate and he slammed his hips back, begging with his body to be taken apart hard and fast.

Cas growled and Dean was most definitely falling in love with the sound of it, sucking in a breath when Cas pressed down with one hand on his back, pinning him in place as he drove his fingers deep into Dean with perfect force. He felt his lungs heave empty, Cas giving him exactly what he needed, driving Dean closer and closer with each thrust of his hand.

God he wanted to feel Cas inside him. Needed to feel himself stretching open wide around his cock one inch at a time. He tensed and screamed as his prostate was brushed again and he cried out frantically for Cas to stop.

He slumped shaking and panting into the crook of his elbow and let the sudden need to come ebb away until he could think again. He felt a gentle touch to his face and opened hazy eyes to see Cas above him with a look of concern.

“Dean?” Cas said questioningly, fingers soothing along his sweat drenched temple. His face relaxed with relief as Dean smiled up at him.

“I’m good Cas, fuck... _so good_. I just...” He trailed off with a moan as Cas slipped his fingers free and he couldn’t decide if he was grateful for the reprieve or disappointed for their loss.

Cas smiled encouragingly. “What is it, love?”

Dean bit his lip and blushed. “I just didn’t want to come yet.” His heartbeat tripped when Cas’ eyes darkened knowingly. “Need you inside me, Cas.”

Cas reached for his hips and squeezed, expression intense. “Is that right?” His voice was low and Dean shivered as anticipation crawled up his spine. He nodded, rocking himself backward within Cas’ grip to feel the man’s cock brush against his ass.

He whined when Cas pushed forward, the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently at his hole and he wanted desperately to shove back onto it and just _take_ it all in one go. Cas hissed and his fingers dug into his hip. “Easy, love.” The man gritted out between clenched teeth.

And then he was pushing inside, one long, slow inward thrust of his hips and he was sinking into Dean like he was always meant to be there. They both groaned together as he bottomed out, so deeply inside Dean could practically feel it in his throat.

***

Castiel’s mind was awash with static, the heat of Dean’s body around him shorting out his central nervous system. He was finally inside his hunter, so deeply he didn’t ever want to move. He could feel Dean pulsing all around him, hips shifting minutely as if he desperately wanted to move.

“ _Cas_...” Dean pleaded with a whimper. Castiel stroked him with gentle hands.

“I’m here, Dean. Right here, love.” He soothed. “You feel so good, Dean, so perfect.” He eased his hips back, choking on a gasp at the hot, tight drag along his cock as he withdrew. “So perfect.” Castiel breathed, waiting on the razor’s edge between gratification and denial until he could wait no longer and thrust forward with everything he had.

Dean cried out, arms shooting out to wrap his hands around the bars of the headboard as Castiel began moving in earnest, unable to stop now that he had started. It was a constant feedback loop of pleasure, every sound he wrung from his hunter ramped up his own need, every touch of his body against Dean’s as they came together over and over again slamming sensation through his limbs, sparking through him like electricity setting him on fire.

He shouted hoarsely when Dean’s grip tightened on the bars and he began shoving backward to meet Castiel’s every stroke, the impact of their sweat slick skin loud and primordial as they chased toward orgasm at breakneck speed. He was determined to bring his hunter over the edge first, redoubling his efforts and angling his hips to brush over Dean’s prostate with every stroke.

Dean wailed beneath him after one such precise stroke, body clamping down on Castiel’s cock as he came like a shot entirely untouched and Castiel watched breathless for a handful of seconds before his own orgasm roared through him, emptying himself inside his hunter with a choked off cry and a blinding rush of heat.

***

Dean blinked awake slowly to the feeling of long fingers stroking along his side, lips gently mouthing at his shoulder and he smiled, releasing a sigh as he relaxed against the warm weight behind him. The bedroom was still cast in deep shadow, winter pale moonlight from the window just bright enough to allow him to see.

He stretched with a groan, arching from head to toe and feeling muscles pulling in what seemed like every single part of his body, aches from both fighting for his life and having the life fucked out of him warring for dominance. He froze mid-stretch as his ass pressed up against an undeniably hard cock. He looked over his shoulder to find Cas watching him.

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’ arms wrapped around him, tugging him back firmly against the Watcher’s body and he felt his own cock coming to attention. Dean rolled in the circle of Cas’ embrace and turned to face him, sliding a hand behind his neck to bring their mouths together for a kiss.

“What time is it?” He murmured against Cas’ lips, though not entirely sure he cared.

Cas’ hands stroked down his spine to his ass, squeezing enough to make Dean’s breath stutter before he answered. “It’s still late.” He nipped at Dean’s bottom lip. “Tired?”

Dean was most definitely feeling the effects of the fight and everything that came after, but tired was the last thing he was feeling, especially with Cas pressed up against him, all wandering hands and lips.

“ _Mmm_. Wide awake, actually.” He sucked in a breath as Cas chuckled darkly, a knee sliding between his thighs.

He put up no resistance as he was rolled onto to his back with Cas’ weight pressing him deliciously into the warm sheets.

“Indeed?” Cas’ expression was playful and so open it nearly took Dean’s breath away. He took the Watcher’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing over the corners of his eyes where his smile had left creases. Cas’ smile dropped a fraction and he looked at Dean curiously. “Dean?”

“Cas, I – fuck, I love you.” He blurted. Cas’ eyes widened and Dean felt his cheeks flame at his unexpected confession, but refused to break eye contact first. Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, cupping his cheek in his palm and his eyes dipped to his mouth. Dean bit at his lower lip and that sharp blue gaze darkened at the action. He arched against Cas as his mouth was taken in a blistering kiss, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist, moaning softly when he rocked into Dean, all hardness and heat.

He welcomed Cas inside with a sigh, open and ready, and so completely loved.

***

Steam billowed in humid clouds as Castiel stepped from the ensuite scrubbing at his hair with a towel. His body was a mess of aches and bruises, but he felt relaxed for the first time in ages. He paused in the doorway, mouth going dry at the sight of Dean standing half-dressed in Castiel’s own clothes and bathed in the soft light of the breaking dawn from the window. Dean turned his head at the sound of the towel hitting the floor and smiled over his shoulder, warm and devastatingly lovely.

His arms were sliding around the hunter’s waist before he realized he’d crossed the floor, nuzzling into the damp hair at Dean’s nape and inhaling the scent of Castiel’s soap on his skin. He tucked his fingertips under the waistband of the tight black shorts Dean had borrowed and fit their bodies together back to front, feeling himself harden beneath his towel as he pressed against the curve of Dean’s arse. Dean’s soft sound of amusement faded into a low groan when Castiel’s teeth closed on his skin, adding yet another mark to the collection already littering the expanse of his shoulder and neck.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” Dean laughed breathily.

Lust clawed at Castiel’s insides as if he were starving for it; no matter how many times he’d already spent himself inside Dean’s body, he wanted more. He wanted to strip his hunter naked and needy and glut them both for hours, for days, until he’d slaked this terrible hunger. Even then, he imagined it wouldn’t be enough; touching Dean was at once relief and addiction, once started he never wanted to stop.

He spun Dean roughly and crowded him backward to the bed, tipping him onto the rumpled sheets and followed him down to pin him by the wrists. Dean’s thighs parted around him like silk, Castiel’s towel coming undone with the movement. He rolled his hips, slotting his prick against Dean’s and grinding until they both hissed at the friction of skin-warm cotton between them. Dean’s eyes squeezed shut and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“God, Cas.” He said with a shudder. “Not that I’m not _totally_ into this, but-“ He moaned as Castiel’s tongue dragged across his jaw. “We should get back to Bobby’s, figure out what’s up, s-sit rep, y’know?”

Castiel knew that Dean was right, but sensibility and responsibility had given up the ghost the moment Dean had crawled into his lap last night frantic and begging to be fucked. He almost felt ashamed at the fact that his usually impulsive, hot headed hunter was the voice of reason and Castiel was the one rapidly losing control.

“Yes, of course.” He murmured, sucking a bruise onto Dean’s collarbone. “We should absolutely-“ He rocked against Dean, firm and measured, thrusts picking up speed. “Do that.” He panted, feeling heat building with every second that passed. “We’ll go now, shall we?”

Dean groaned and melted beneath him, thighs wrapping tightly around his hips, breath coming in gasps. “Yeah, fuck Cas, right now.”

***

Thirty-five minutes, one mutual spine-cracking orgasm, hasty shared shower and another change of clothes later, Dean shoved the Impala into park in the frost coated lot at Bobby’s house. He shivered as he threw open the driver’s side door and the frigid late-January air iced his damp hair into spikes, but he could still feel the languid heat of afterglow warming him from head to toe.

He tossed a look over his shoulder and snorted at Cas prowling around the hood of the Impala like a sleek, smug, contented cat. Christ, a few hours of (admittedly mind-blowing) quality mattress time seemed to have completely worn away the layer of repressed, stiff-upper-lipped Britishness and Dean was definitely relishing the difference. He was also intensely curious about the tattoo he had spied on Cas’ forearm this morning as they’d showered together. The Watcher was proving to be far less buttoned-up than Dean ever imagined, and he wondered just how much Cas still held back.

He lounged against the porch railing and watched Cas come closer, trying to decide if they could risk a kiss. He could still feel the ache of Cas inside him every time he moved and his hands itched to slide under the man’s coat and thick sweater to the firm, pale skin beneath.

Cas stepped into his space, one inch at time, eyebrow raised in a smirk, and Dean realized his thoughts had been completely transparent. Cas glanced up at the door before taking ahold of Dean’s hips, obviously remembering Bobby nearly catching them yesterday. The textured wool of his coat brushed teasingly against Dean’s body as Cas leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Be careful, love. You’re wearing my clothes,” his nose nudged behind Dean’s ear and he inhaled deeply. “You smell like me.” Lips brushed over his jaw to hover over his mouth. “Like _mine_.” He murmured.

Dean shuddered at the heat in Cas’ eyes. “Yours, Cas.” He breathed.

Cas growled softly and pressed him back against the railing, taking his mouth in a hard kiss that set Dean on fire despite the freezing temperature.

A muffled groan shattered the silence and Dean tore his mouth free with a gasp. The faint sound came a second time and he realized with a start that it was coming from inside the house. He shoved Cas backward and bound up the porch stairs two at a time to rip the screen door nearly off its hinges in his rush to get it open. The front door was slightly ajar and tense fear sent his heart pounding. He slipped the Colt from where he’d tucked it into the back of his waistband and thumbed the hammer back. He pushed the door open and gagged at the stench of sulfur that wafted out from the entryway beyond.

“Dean, wait-“ He ignored Cas’ caution and leapt into the dim room, gun up and at the ready as he went.

“Sam?! Bobby?” He called out, trying to swallow down his panic at the oppressive silence echoing back at him. He heard the sound of Cas’ boots on the hardwood as he split off from Dean to check out the kitchen, and he was grateful that they were on the same page.

“ _Dean_.” A pained groan came from the direction of Bobby’s study. Dean ran through the ransacked living room for the study and fell to his knees at the old man’s side as he struggled to sit.

“Cas! In here!” He shouted. He helped Bobby up to lean against the wall, taking in the mess of blood and damage. Bobby grunted and grabbed for his side and Dean could see the way his flannel gaped wetly over what was obviously a stab wound. “Jesus Bobby, what happened? Where’s Sammy?” Dean crawled to the desk and rifled through the drawers for Bobby’s first aid kit, haphazardly grabbing a handful of gauze to press against the injury. He resisted the urge to shake the man when he didn’t respond immediately.

Cas clattered through the doorway alone, eyes darting around the room as he assessed the situation. Dean’s heart was in his throat. “Cas? Where’s Sam? Did you find him? What about the others? What the hell happened here?”

Bobby coughed wetly and Dean whipped around. “He took him, Dean.” He coughed again, clearing his throat. “Yellow-Eyes. The warehouse was a trap. They were here when I got back.” Bobby grimaced and gripped Dean’s shoulder. “I couldn’t get to him before they took me out. I’m so sorry, boy.”

Dean staggered back onto his feet, narrowly avoiding tripping over a tumbled pile of books. He shoved both hands into his hair and tugged roughly to keep himself from screaming. He felt like such a goddamned fool; he’d let his guard down, let himself forget the one thing Dad had drilled into his skull and left Sammy unprotected when he should have been here. Maybe if he hadn’t wasted so much time getting caught up in Cas he could have stopped Yellow-Eyes, or been able to find them faster so he could save his brother before God knew what- He clenched his eyes shut as he tried not to imagine what Yellow-Eyes had done to his brother in the time it had taken Dean’s sex-drunk brain to remember his responsibility again.

He needed to get out of there. Needed to find his brother, now. But he had no idea where to start. The warehouse, maybe? That was the last place the demons had been, would they be so obvious as to go back there? Fuck, he couldn’t think straight.

“Dean-“ Cas’ soft voice from behind him brought him sharply back into the moment, but he couldn’t give in to the steady comfort the man was offering. That was the last thing he needed right now. He shrugged Cas’ hand off his shoulder and crossed to the desk, needing something solid to hold him up. An obnoxiously bright birthday card was propped on a pile of research detritus and he reached for it, not remembering it from the night before. A shiny polaroid slipped out to land on the floor and he scrambled to pick it up, terror shooting through him at what he was seeing. In the photo, the Yellow-Eyed demon grinned maniacally, arm around his brother’s throat keeping him from struggling free from the demon’s grasp.

The sharp edges of the polaroid dug into his skin as he clutched it in his fist. The card, forgotten in the rush of his horrifying discovery, laid open on the desk where he’d dropped it and he grabbed for it, eyes racing over the scrawled message below the generic printed greeting.

_Surprise Deano! I wish I could have been there to see your reaction, but alas, I had a party to get ready for and a present to wrap up nice and tight. Come alone and you just might get it in one piece. See ya soon birthday boy!_

A pair of coordinates was scribbled at the bottom of the card, vaguely familiar, and Dean mentally calculated with the practice of someone who’d grown up using a map to navigate the country exactly how long it would take him to get to Sammy if he laid the hammer down on the Impala’s gas pedal.

He was halfway to the front door when a hand gripped his bicep and drew him up short. He spun, the mindless, desperate determination tipping over the edge to rage.

“Dean, _stop_.” Cas’ voice was infuriatingly calm, clearly trying not to spook him further, the fingers on his arm loosened slightly but didn’t drop. “Talk to me.”

Dean slapped the card and photo against Cas’ chest, sending him stumbling back a half step, hand slipping from Dean’s arm to grab for the card as Dean let go. Cas went pale as his eyes flicked to the photo, swallowing tightly as he read the card. His expression was unreadable when he looked up, searching Dean’s face.

“You’re not going-“ He started, and Dean exploded, hands fisted into Cas’ shirt.

“The _hell_ I’m not! He has _Sammy_ , you stupid son of a bitch!” He shook the Watcher, horrifyingly feeling the hot prickle of tears stinging at his eyes. “I should have _been_ here,” he whispered hoarsely, and he couldn’t bear to see the way Cas’ eyes softened, his hands reaching to cover Dean’s fists. Dean choked on a self-deprecating laugh that crumbled into a bitten off sob and his fingers tightened in fabric, dragging Cas closer until a hard thought would have pressed them together. His eyes squeezed shut and he pulled in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, Cas was staring at him from two inches away, confusion, concern, and faintest hint of residual lust flickering like heat lightning through the storm-cloud blue of his eyes. Dean sneered. “I _would_ have been there if I hadn’t let myself forget my duty because I was desperate for a _fuck_.”

He felt a sick thrill at the stung look on Cas’ face as he jerked away. Jesus Christ, he was a bastard. Those hours with Cas, that first time together, every emotion they’d shared had made it so much more than a simple, crude _fuck,_ and they both knew it; but the panic and terror for his brother was trying to claw its way back up his throat and lashing out at Cas had pushed it down again.

He stared at Cas’ silent back, waiting for the Watcher to do something. Scream at him, hit him, anything.

After a tense minute of _nothing_ Dean swallowed the urge to beg forgiveness, and turned on his heel to leave.

“You’re not going _alone_ , Dean.” Cas’ voice was empty, cold, and it sliced at Dean’s heart to hear it. He paused in the doorway, eyes closing against the tears threatening for too many reasons.

He sighed tiredly. “I have to, Cas. You read the note. He’ll hurt Sammy if I don’t.”

Cas scoffed and Dean twisted around, snarling.

“And what about the rest of the note, Dean?” Cas questioned, eyebrow lifted in cool disdain, arms crossed over his chest with forced nonchalance.

“What ‘rest of the note’?”

Cas threw his hands in the air and shouted. “The part that says ‘By the way, this is a bloody obvious _trap_ ,’ you tosser!”

Dean’s jaw clenched tight, breathing harshly through his nose as he fought not to take a swing at Cas. “This is my fight. I can handle it. I’m _going_ to handle it. _Alone_.” His throat felt raw, voice scraping over his vocal cords as it dropped into an almost painfully low register.

He was going alone and he was going now.

He wasn’t willing to risk Sammy.

To risk Cas.

No matter how impressively the Watcher could hold his own in a fight, all Dean saw now was his potential to become a hostage, someone else to hold against him if the demons had any idea how much Dean would be willing to do to keep him from being hurt.

Suddenly Dean was exhausted, and he was running out of time. “I’m going, Cas. Don’t try to stop me.”

He watched as Cas opened his mouth before snapping his jaw shut, muscles clenching and bunching. Dean tensed. Cas inhaled sharply, eyes closing for a moment, visibly forcing himself calmer. When they opened again, a tired resignation was a dull contrast to the previous flash of his ire, and Dean had no idea how to interpret that.

“Cas-“

“If you’re determined to do this-“ He holds up a hand to silence Dean’s retort. “ _If you’re determined to do this_ _alone_ , remember your training. You have the skills, Dean. Do not let emotion get the better of you. Go. Report as soon as you are able.” The man he loved folded away behind the detached, impersonal mask of the Watcher, and Dean felt a stab of regret.

He swallowed around the tightness in his throat and looked away, straight into Bobby’s pale face. The older hunter’s features were drawn and tight with pain, but his eyes were disappointed and inexplicably sad as they flicked between he and Cas. Bobby sighed.

“Go, boy. Bring Sam home.”

***

Castiel paced the worn tile around the curtained-off perimeter of Bobby’s hospital bed, his stride eating up the meager space in seconds only to turn and begin the circuit once again. He was restless, unease over his decision to allow Dean to go off on his own had settled squirming and discomfiting at his core.

He’d fully expected the man to demand an explanation the second the Impala roared out of the salvage yard, and had turned, bracing himself for the tirade. Bobby had looked up at him, face sheened with sweat and a grimace etching deep frown lines around the whiskered mouth.

“Fuckin’ stupid....idjits.” He grunted. And then he’d deflated like a popped balloon, slumping further back against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head as he passed out.

Had he been conscious, he doubted Bobby would have agreed to the ambulance, or the emergency room, but Castiel did not have the medical knowledge or skills to treat a stab wound. He’d think about apologizing when the man was awake and Dean was in his sight once more.

The card and photograph Dean had shoved at him were still clutched in his fist, taunting him. The last thing he’d wanted to do was let Dean confront the Yellow-Eyed demon on his own, and had been prepared to physically restrain the hunter until he saw reason, but- as he’d opened his mouth to argue, he’d recalled Naomi’s warning not to interfere and he’d been stricken by the indecision between protecting his hunter and allowing him to potentially fulfill his destiny, the details of which he had been kept in the dark on to avoid undue influence. The Watcher’s Council expected his compliance, and had assigned him this hunter, this task, a test of his loyalty and obedience.

But. He was in _love_ with Dean. He’d already failed the Council by once again allowing himself to become emotionally compromised with his hunter. The conflict of interest he had created for himself was a minefield of impossible choices. Love or duty? His heart or his birthright?

And so he paced, feeling useless and impotent.

“Boy, if you don’t quit that pacin’ and sit your fool ass down, I’m gonna put you down myself.” Bobby’s gruff voice was soft around the edges, almost drowsy, though he was clearly fighting the effects of the pain medications the emergency personnel had administered before stitching him up.

Castiel turned and hurried to the older hunter’s bedside to assist him in his weakened struggle to sit up before he could tear his stitches. Thankfully the demon that had stabbed him had missed any major internal organs, but the wound track was deep and had bled significantly. He raised the head of the gurney a few inches, plucking at the flat pillows to fluff them until he was batted away.

“How are you feeling, Robert?”

Bobby’s eyebrows lifted incredulously. “Like I got kebabed by a demon and woke up in a damned hospital with my boys who knows where, how do you think I’m doin’ you stupid sonuvabitch?”

Castiel fidgeted in place, palming the back of his neck and looking away to avoid the hard stare aimed in his direction. “My apologies, Robert. I lack the skills to treat stab wounds, as it were. I assumed you would rather have not bled out on the floor of your study, and acted accordingly. Forgive me if I was mistaken.” He countered sarcastically.

Bobby huffed and grumbled wordlessly, looking like a disgruntled owl as he puffed and settled himself in the nest of pillows and blankets. He grimaced at the movement and Castiel leapt at the opportunity to further stall the interrogation he was certain the man was working up to.

“You’re in pain. I’ll inform a nurse, shall I?” He swept aside the curtain without waiting for the hunter’s response. He moved toward the nurses station that sat central in the ward. This early in the morning, there were few beds occupied, but a clear, strident voice was rising from behind a second curtained off area at the other end of the room. He stopped near the desk and tried not to listen as the sound of arguing became more evident.

“ _Don’t you dare call your mom yet Jo! We have to find Dean and tell him about Sam!_ ”

Castiel froze at Charlie’s shout. Bloody _hell_ , he hadn’t even thought about Dean’s friends in the chaotic aftermath of the battle at the warehouse and all that had come afterward. They had stayed behind with Sam after the alarm had sounded and Castiel and the two hunters had rushed toward the demonic threat.

He was reaching out for the floral patterned curtain before he’d realized he had moved. “Charlie?”

The teenagers whirled in surprise at his sudden appearance. Charlie was on her feet, struggling to pull her coat on over an eye-searing neon pink cast on her forearm, a raw scrape down the side of her face stood out starkly on her pale skin. Jo had halted in the middle of trying to keep her friend out of her coat. Ash looked up at him from where he sat, clearly staying out of the squabble, his denim shearling jacket torn at one shoulder.

“Cas! Oh my god! Are you okay? Where’s Dean? Is _he_ okay? Oh god, is he _here_?! What happened!?” Charlie shrieked at him, questions shot rapid-fire one after the other until he wasn’t sure which to answer first. “Wait! We have to tell you-“

He held out his hand to quiet her before she revealed the existence of demons as well as Sam’s abduction to the patients and nurses failing to look like they weren’t eavesdropping. Charlie fell silent and he pulled the curtain back into place to afford a modicum of privacy.

“Sam has been taken by the Yellow-Eyed demon, yes.” He confirmed in a low voice. “What happened?”

Jo let go of her grip on Charlie’s coat and folded her arms around herself, her blonde curls a tangled mass around her shoulders. “After you guys left, Sam was freaking out, trying to go after you. We tried to talk him down, you know, said you all could handle it, you didn’t need us.” She scowled.

“We thought he went to bed,” Charlie continued where Jo had stopped. “We were in the living room talking when we heard shouting outside.” She shuddered. “There were so many of them. _Demons_ ,” she whispered. “They had Sam; he must have snuck out the window. He was trying to fighting them, but there were too many.” She looked down at her feet miserably, shoulders sloping. “We tried to help him, I swear we did. Everything went wrong so fast. I punched one, and it was like my arm just shattered. It was like my mind couldn’t handle it and I just panicked. So, I ran. I think I made it through three counties before I realized no one was chasing me.”

“Me and Jo couldn’t get through them to Sam, and we thought we should go after Charlie before she got herself more hurt or lost in the woods, and we could find you and Dean and warn you.” Ash added.

“I’m sorry Cas.” Charlie sniffled, voice watery with the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Sam got taken because I wasn’t brave enough to keep fighting.”

Castiel laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not to blame, Charlie.” Her face lifted, eyes shining with tears. He looked at all of their stricken, worried faces. “None of you are to blame. You did the right thing, taking care of your friend, thinking to warn Dean and I instead of risking yourselves needlessly. The warehouse was a diversion; taking Sam was the goal all along. If the blame belongs to anyone, it’s mine for not realizing we were running headlong into a trap. And now Dean is paying the price of that mistake.”

“Wait, if you’re not here with Dean, where is he? Why aren’t you with him?” Jo asked, a puzzled frown creasing her brow.

“Bobby was injured; he returned to the house as the Yellow-Eyed demon was laying his trap for Dean.” He pulled the card from his pocket and handed it to her.

He glanced at Ash, who was gaping at him with wide eyes. “Bobby got hurt? Is he....okay?” He asked in a strangled voice. Ash had taken to Bobby in a way that seemed to baffle the older hunter, but Castiel wondered if he didn’t see the man as a sort of surrogate father or uncle figure the way Dean and Sam had, and the thought of Bobby being hurt was distressing him.

He assured the concerned boy. “Bobby will make a full recov-“

“Where is _Dean_?” Jo interrupted loudly. “What did you mean he’s ‘paying the price for your mistake’?” Her fists were propped on her hips as if she were struggling not to grab Castiel and shake him.

“Dean insisted on going alone to rescue Sam-“

“And you let him?!” This time it was Charlie who cut him off.

He glowered, unwilling to stand there and have his decisions questioned by a teenage girl, especially when he still doubted them himself. “I did not _let_ him. The Council-“

“Screw the Council!” She snatched the card from Jo’s hand and shoved it at Ash, who automatically began punching in the coordinates on the GPS application on a phone that was a starkly modern converse to his homemade laptop contraption.

“Got it!” He called, rising to his feet, more alert than Castiel had probably ever seen the lackadaisical, mullet-headed young man.

“Now see here-“ Castiel protested, watching Dean’s friends clearly mobilizing to go after him.

Charlie finally succeeded at shoving her cast in the sleeve of her coat, not pausing in buttoning it to scowl fiercely at him. “No _you_ see here. Dean is our friend, and we owe it to him to help if we can. Screw you and your cadre of uptight, tea-sipping bureaucrats.”

She brushed past him, Jo and Ash hustling behind her, leaving him gaping open-mouthed like an utter prat.

He started at the curtain being yanked open with a metallic rattle and spun to find Bobby seated in a hospital-issue wheelchair, an amused yet exasperated look on his face.

“You gonna let those kids go off on their own, too?” He drawled.

Castiel made a harsh sound in his throat and grit his teeth. Bobby’s eyebrow lifted irritatingly.

_Fuck it_ all. No he wasn’t. Charlie had had the right idea all along.

Screw the Council.

***

Dean pulled the Impala off the road and onto the shoulder, cutting the engine. He draped the spread open map over the steering wheel to study the area that corresponded to the GPS directions on his phone. He might have been stupid enough to insist on doing this alone, but he was also John Winchester’s son and he _wasn’t_ stupid enough to just drive up to the meet location at high noon like an idiot. He’d hike the last few miles using the dense woods as cover, case the joint properly. It wouldn’t help Sam to burst through the door like a gunslinger at a saloon without knowing what he might be up against.

He slipped out of the car, zipping the leather jacket to his chin against the frigid wind whistling through the trees. While the sound it made would provide even more cover, he wasn’t at all dressed for slogging through the forest. Harsh winter wind cut through his clothes.

Cas’ clothes.

He closed his eyes briefly and sucked in a breath. He’d been a total piece of shit to Cas at Bobby’s house when he’d discovered Sam had been taken. The Watcher had been as cold as he’d ever been when he’d stopped fighting Dean’s insistence on going alone. And though it had been what he’d thought he’d wanted, he’d been pulling out onto the main road before he stopped expecting to see Cas coming after him vowing ride to Sam’s rescue at his side, Yellow-Eye’s threat be damned.

He was honestly still surprised at how much it hurt.

And he had no one but himself to blame. Cas had put up with his shit far longer than he would have. Longer than he deserved, really.

His held-breath exploded from him in a sparkling cloud as it hit the air and froze, wisping away like smoke as he shoved everything but getting to Sam way back down where everything he couldn’t do shit about right then belonged.

He slipped into the trees and began to move, glad he was wearing his boots at least, keeping one eye on the progress of the tiny indicator dot toward the red destination tag. He was on high alert, trying to move as quickly as he could while drawing as little attention as possible.

Twenty minutes of tense hiking later he could see a break in the tree line, the decrepit farmhouse that sat dead center in a wide circle of pale, deadened grass. Creeping from behind one tree to the next, he swept his gaze around the perimeter of the house, eyes peeled for lookout demons.

Dean crouched in the leaves and waited as the sun inched its way across the sky. He knew he was running short on time. The longer he waited, the worse things would be for Sammy. There had been no movement outside of the farmhouse in the last quarter hour, no twitching of swiss-cheesed curtains in any of the windows, nothing. Could that yellow eyed bastard be _that_ arrogant? Sure, Dean was alone, but he’d been trained almost entirely for this moment. He wasn’t walking into this blind, _and_ he had the freakin’ Colt.

He took a breath and crossed the open grass double time in a squat-legged run, keeping himself low until he could put the peeling off-white siding at his back. He crept around the house to the sagging wraparound porch and vaulted the railing to avoid creaking stairs. Termite-eaten pine crumbled against his palm and he dusted the residue off on the smooth wool of Cas’ pants so he could tighten his grip on the Colt. The cold was already making his fingers stiff, he couldn’t risk the extra seconds it’d take to get the gun up and aimed.

Dean reached for the door knob, twisting slowly, pushing it inward with his hand flat to the splintered wood. He held his breath, waiting for the cliché haunted-house screech and creak of rusted hinges. Suspicious unease lifted the hair at the back of his neck when nothing but silence filled the air. He peered around the open doorway, taking in the dusty, musty space beyond.

To the right, French doors with broken panes of opaque glass showed what would have been a modest study if it hadn’t been full of rodent chewed furniture and shredded books and papers. To the left, the dining room and kitchen was a wasteland of broken beer bottles and rusted out cans. Stubs of melted candles dotted the cluttered tabletop, a bench tipped over on its side.

A swirl of dust motes in the air drew Dean’s attention to the staircase. No sound betrayed any movement, but something from above had disturbed the air. He set his feet down carefully as he moved; steps silent despite the heavy tread of his boots, listening hard for a creak of footsteps or a murmured voice that would give him an idea of where to search. Dean settled his weight onto the first stair gently, though the wood seemed sturdy enough. He advanced upward, fighting the urge to go faster as he gained the landing before the staircase angled up past the ceiling and into dusty gloom. Faint strains of light caught in the dust that eddied around him as he held his position, gun aimed up the staircase.

“The man of the hour appears! Wow, will little Sammy be glad. We were starting to wonder if you hadn’t gotten our invitation Deano.” Dean froze as the voice seemed to echo from every corner, giving away no clues as to where it had come from. He took the stairs two at a time without running, but apparently the festivities had begun. So much for trying to stealthily gain an advantage.

He swallowed around a spurt of fear that left his mouth dry and pulse racing. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks for havin’ me.” He thought he heard a creak of a floorboard to his left and swung the gun in that direction, searching the length of dim hallway quickly. There were two closed doors on either side of the hall. The ceiling sagged near the middle, a large water-stained crack exposed ancient pink insulation foam. He needed to get the demon talking so he could get a bead on his location. “Y’know...you really oughta talk to your contractor about this water damage. Could be a roof problem.”

“Oh, good. The feeble banter portion of the fight.” The demon snickered.

A thump from one of the rooms spurred Dean into motion. He burst into the room and was immediately on edge. The slope of the roof seemed to press down from above, making him feel like Han Solo in the trash compactor. The single window was boarded up tight, every crack stuffed with newspaper to block the light, leaving the room in utter darkness. The weak light from the open doorway behind him revealed almost nothing.

A shine of reflected light off of something glossy on the walls had him scrambling for a light. He bit back a shout as a rotted string brushed his hand and then his face. He yanked on it, hectic light from the swinging bare bulb filling the cramped space, and the floor dropped out from under Dean’s feet.

Hundreds of blurry Polaroids like the one in the card were nailed to the wall, image after image of his brother plastered over the yellowed wallpaper. He tore one off in and stared at it, a shout of rage burning up his gullet at the sight of Sammy bruised and bloodied, a duct tape gag cutting across his face.

“Where is my brother you son of a bitch!?” He fought not to hurl, breath coming in gasps. “Sam!” He barreled back out of the door and skidded on the floor as he stopped.

The Yellow-Eyed demon was leaned against the door at the opposite end of the hall. “You kept me waiting, Deano. Had to do something to pass the time.” He smirked, eyes flashing yellow. “Consider it extra decoration on your present!”

Dean raised the Colt, finger pressed just over the trigger. “I’ll kill you for this.” He cocked the hammer back, ignoring the tremor in his hand as he aimed.

“You won’t kill me, Dean. Not with that thing. Not with Sammy waiting for you to rescue him.” He spread his hands open and shrugged casually as if a legendary demon-killing weapon wasn’t aimed dead center on his forehead. “If I die, he dies, Dean.” The demon reached behind him without taking his eyes off of Dean and pushed the door open.

Directly behind the demon in the doorway, Sammy was tied to a chair, squirming and struggling against the tape holding him fast. He’d been right, Dean realized with despair. If he took the shot, any shot, the bullet wouldn’t just kill the demon. It would travel straight through him and into his brother.

“What do you want? To let Sammy go. What do you want?” He repeated hoarsely, trying to ignore the muffled ‘ _No!_ ’ from behind the demon as his brother pleaded with him not to give in.

The Yellow-Eyed demon grinned widely, arms opening with a flourish like a game show host.

“Let’s make a deal, Deano!”

***

Tense silence reigned within the confines of Charlie’s cramped vehicle as Castiel floored it down the highway, eyes flicking to the dash-mounted phone that from which a sultry disembodied voice instructed him to turn occasionally, as if he expected the estimated time of arrival to be significantly reduced each time.

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat that was shoved up against the steering wheel, meant for a much shorter operator, and felt wires brush against his knee.

“Pardon me for asking, Jo, but where precisely did you learn to _hotwire_ a car?”

Jo shrugged in the back seat and appeared to be cleaning under her fingernails with a Swiss Army knife. “Auto shop.” She said, as if it were obvious.

He blinked at her in the rearview mirror before looking back to the road.

Charlie scowled at him from the passenger seat, though thankfully her irritated grumbling at his decision to take the wheel when her bulky, casted arm made steering all but impossible had come to an end sometime earlier.

“Well, _don’t_ pardon me, _Cas_ , but I’m still waiting for an explanation for why you were okay with Dean running off alone, like an _idiot_ , into a trap. And if you try to say ‘the _Council_ ’ one more time, I’ll-“

“Charlie, the Council may be ‘uptight tea-sipping bureaucrats’, but they have been the guiding force behind any and all hunter activities in the world for centuries, and when they give an order, they expect to be obeyed. I was instructed to allow Dean to follow his instincts and _not_ interfere.” He said tightly, jaw clenched with the desire to snap at the girl.

She huffed. “Well your orders were stupid. _Dean_ is stupid where Sam is concerned.” She crossed her arms awkwardly over her chest. “Where you’re concerned, too, for that matter.” She muttered.

He cut a look at her, embarrassment creeping hot under his collar. Her keen awareness of how he and Dean felt about each other was disconcerting.

The silence, when it returned, was unbearable instead of the relief he’d expected. He opened his mouth to fill it when the GPS purred “In two miles, turn right on Jack Pine road.”

Castiel gripped the steering wheel and pressed down on the gas, coaxing as much speed as he could from the little car. After half a mile, Charlie gasped, and he slammed on the brakes at her shout of “That’s Dean’s car! It’s the Impala!” The car fishtailed before shuddering to a stop. The teenagers spilled from the car and raced down the road to where Dean’s car had been half hidden behind some bushes at the narrow shoulder. He took off after them a moment later, hissing for them to be quiet as they began shouting Dean’s name.

He laid his bare palm against the hood of the sleek black car. “It’s cold. He’s likely far from here by now.” Castiel peered into the trees beside the Impala, the afternoon sun casting shadows and creating excellent cover. “I suspect he chose to approach from the forest, conceal his movements for as long as possible.” He nodded to himself. Dean was a hunter; he’d honed these skills long before Castiel had ever come into the picture. In this, he trusted Dean knew what he was doing. It loosened a small knot of worry within him to know that Dean hadn’t been so blinded by fear for his brother that he’d forgotten to put his training to use.

“Let’s go.” He said abruptly, his mind made up on what he was going to do. The teenagers stared at him. “Let’s go! There is every likelihood Dean is already at the coordinates and fighting for his life. We don’t have the time to follow in his footsteps.” He turned on his heel and strode back to the car, and had himself wedged halfway into the driver’s seat before they were moving. They jumped in the car at a run as he gunned the engine.

The time for stealth was past; the time for bold action in the face of certain danger had arrived.

**

“Your destination is on your left.” The GPS’s self-satisfied announcement was utterly incongruous to the moment as the ramshackle farmhouse lurched into view. Castiel shoved the gearshift into park before the car had actually come to a stop, throwing them all forward against their seatbelts. He turned in his seat.

“I must go in alone. No-“ He sliced a hand through the air to cut off their protests. “I’m not telling you to stay here; I’m not fool enough to believe you would actually listen.” He shook his head. “I _am_ advising that you stay together. Charlie is injured and though you have all been invaluable in so many ways, you just do not have the training needed here. Use the skills you have, what you have learned in the past months, and keep each other safe.”

They stared at him, faces pale with fear, but they did not cower or cringe. Dean’s friends had impressed him on more than one occasion with their loyalty, their bravery, their willingness to jump in with both feet and help in whatever way they could. They may not have ever been chosen to be hunters, but he felt a rush of fierce pride nonetheless.

He nodded briskly and wished them luck.

**

Castiel burst through the front door of the farmhouse, calling out for Dean as he went. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle and raised voices from the upper floor and he pounded up the stairs.

Through an open door at the end of the hallway, he saw Sam in a chair struggling against his bonds, straining against the tape over his mouth as he shouted his objection to whatever he was seeing in that room. Castiel was at the doorway in seconds and felt fear turning his blood icy.

Dean was clutched in the Yellow-Eyed demon’s embrace, a hand gripping his jaw cruelly as his face was tilted up for a kiss, vicious mockery of the passion Castiel had shared with his hunter only a few short hours ago.

“Dean, no!” He cried, rushing forward as if to pull them apart.

Dean’s eyes snapped to Castiel’s face, pain and fear flashing through the green irises. The demon snarled, spinning with Dean still in his grasp, tucking himself behind the hunter and whipping a knife up to press at Dean’s throat. Sam thrashed even harder in his chair, tipping it over onto his side in his distress.

The defeat in Dean’s eyes was devastating.

“Oh look, it’s the Watcher. I don’t remember inviting you to this party, English.” The demon hissed, jerking the knife against Dean’s skin, leaving him balanced on the balls of his feet to avoid his throat being slit.

“I’ll always come for him.” Castiel said, eyes on Dean’s, unable to look away. “Let them go, and you can have me instead.” Dean’s eyes closed, before opening again to bore into him with the weight of some emotion. They flicked to the side, once, coming back to Castiel’s face before flicking off again, to a point on the floor to Castiel’s right. He chanced a quick glance to where Dean had been clearly trying to indicate and caught a flash of silver in his peripheral.

The Colt.

Castiel shook his head minutely, the movement just barely visible, but he knew Dean understood. He wouldn’t reach it in time, wouldn’t be able to make the shot before the Demon cut his hunter’s throat. He saw Dean swallow tightly, the ridge of his Adam’s apple pressing against the blade, drawing a quick red line against his skin.

“Cas you dumbass, stay out of this. Get Sammy out of here and leave me.” Dean’s voice was harsh, but his eyes widened significantly and Castiel saw the fingers of one hand inching toward a vial tucked into the waistband of his jeans, nearly hidden by his coat.

“Listen to your little lover boy, _Cas_.” The Yellow-Eyed demon agreed. “He’s mine now. I’ll kill them all if you try to interfere. You don’t have anything I want that’d be worth trading Deano here for anyway.”

Castiel nodded sharply, hoping Dean had gotten the message and was ready. Sam kicked one of his legs free and shouted ‘ _No! Dean!_ ’ and then time seemed to slow down. Dean threw his head back, his skull connecting with a sickening crack against the demon’s nose, and simultaneously pulled the vial from his jeans and thumbing off the cap one handed. Castiel dived for the Colt at the same moment Dean tossed the bottle over his shoulder, splashing Holy Water onto the demon and dropping to the floor.

Castiel came up on one knee and fired the millisecond the sight was lined up with the Yellow-Eyed demon’s heart. The bullet exploded from the barrel with a bark of sound and Castiel imagined he could see the right hand twist of the bullet as it ripped through the air.

And _missed._

The demon had somehow managed to throw itself to the side just enough that the bullet tore through its shoulder instead of the heart. The demon howled in pain, skin still bubbling and smoking from the Holy Water, dark red blood pouring down its face from its broken nose. Electricity crackled through the wound, flashing through the skin as it tunneled into the muscle and stuck deep. The Yellow-Eyed demon opened its mouth and loosed an inhuman sound as viscous black smoke poured from within the vessel and smashed through a jagged hole in the window before Castiel could take a breath to fire again. The body dropped to the ground with a flaccid _thud_ , a boneless heap on the dusty floorboards.

Dean scrambled across the floor on hands and knees to Sam, ripping at the tape with his fingernails to free his brother. The tap across his mouth was pulled off much more gently before he tugged Sam close and held him tightly. Castiel could hear Sam murmuring to Dean and realized he was trying to reassure Dean that he was alright, that he was okay.

Dean choked a sob against his brother’s hair, and Castiel felt helpless, superfluous to the emotional reunion happening before his eyes.

A moment later Charlie, Jo, and Ash tumbled through the doorway, eyes wide and all speaking at once. Dean looked up at them, surprise clear on his tear-streaked face.

“What? How did you-?” His brow creased with confusion.

Charlie rolled her eyes before jerking her head in Castiel’s direction. Castiel stared at the floor for a moment before looking up into Dean’s eyes.

“I shouldn’t have let you come alone, Dean. I should have insisted I come along, or come after you no matter what you said. I may be your Watcher, Dean, but my place is at your side. I know that now.” He said earnestly, reaching out a hand for his hunter before curling it into a fist to keep himself from touching Dean before he was certain of his welcome.

Dean’s smile was crooked. “I wouldn’t have risked you, Cas.” He held out a hand and Castiel was at his side in a heartbeat. He stroked a thumb over Dean’s cheek, smearing the damp tear tracks into the skin.

“I would have risked _everything_ for you, love.” He whispered, eyes closing as he pressed his forehead to Dean’s. Dean wrapped an arm around his back and huffed a watery laugh.

“Dumbass.”

***

Despite their tentative rapprochement, the ride back to Sioux Falls felt tense and vaguely uncomfortable. Sam had curled up in the back seat after Charlie, Jo and Ash had dropped him, Dean and Cas back at the Impala for the return journey.

He was a mess of confused and conflicting emotions. Cas had saved him, and Sam, and he was glad. Gladder even that the coldness he’d seen from the Watcher that morning seemed to have thawed. But he didn’t know how to breach the wall that he could feel between them now. He hadn’t regretted his decision to go alone, much. He’d genuinely believed that Sam would be safer if he’d done what the Yellow-Eyed demon had demanded, only to realize later that no matter what he’d decided, Sam had been hurt anyway. Part of him wanted to blame Cas for that, for distracting him with sex and the lure of that taste of domesticity. Another part of him blamed himself for impulsively deciding to run to Cas’ house after the warehouse instead of back to Bobby’s like he should have. If they’d just gone back to Bobby’s they might have stopped this all from happening in the first place.

He sighed and rolled his shoulders to try to ease some of the tension in the muscles. He could feel Cas’ gaze on him for a few moments at a time before the Watcher would turn to stare out of the windshield, lost in his own thoughts.

Dean was hyperaware of the man sat beside him, and so was able to pick up immediately on the fresh tension that made Cas go stock still against the leather, his breath drawn sharply inward as they pulled into the salvage yard.

“Cas?”

When it came, the man’s voice was devoid of any emotion. “The Council is here, Dean.”

It was then that Dean noticed the trio of impeccably waxed black Towncars in the lot out front of the house.

“Well, shit.” He said with feeling.

“Indeed.”

**

Dean heaved a fortifying breath at the bottom of the stairs, bracing himself to return to the living room that was currently hosting a small horde of tweed-draped, uptight English assholes, his Uncle Bobby, and his increasingly agitated lover. He’d finished cleaning Sammy up and tucking him into bed, his brother’s exhaustion providing an easy excuse for avoiding his questions and recriminations about Dean’s willingness to give himself up to the Yellow-Eyed demon in exchange for Sam’s release.

“We’re not in the business of fair, Castiel. We are fighting a war here.” He started at the prim voice of Naomi, apparently Cas’ direct superior in the Watcher’s Council hierarchy, and started moving once again, stepping into the living room in time to hear Cas’ response.

Cas laughed harshly, drawing the disapproving stares of each of the Council toadies that stood in a rigid semi-circle around Naomi in one of the threadbare club chairs across from the sofa. “You’re _waging_ a war. Dean and all the other hunters are fighting it. There’s a difference.” He shot back, heated. Dean wondered where the conversation had veered off from icily polite small talk to this.

“Guessing I missed something.” He drawled, an insolent eyebrow cocked as he looked from his Watcher to the British Invasion standing at attention around their general.

Cas glared at his fellow Watchers and finally at his boss. “No.” He said curtly.

Naomi cast him a withering look in return. “Mr. Novak, if you _don’t_ mind...” she replied tartly before turning her pale blue gaze Dean’s way.

“Dean, we the Council wish to commend you on your efforts today. Every time we engage with the demonic and supernatural threat, we gain another foothold in the battle we have been fighting for centuries. Your defeat of Azazel was quite the coup for our side.” She nodded at him, smiling serenely.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Only we just wounded him, not killed him.” He jerked a thumb in Cas’ direction. “Also Cas was the one that shot him, not me. Not really.” He scuffed the toe of his boot on the floor.

Cas made a small noise, and Dean looked a question in his direction. 

“And how was it that you knew of the confrontation with, what did you call it? Azazel? I have never heard of that name, so it wasn’t I who informed you. You also used the word ‘defeat’ deliberately. You know something.” Cas said suspiciously.

Naomi sniffed, but failed to conceal the smug look on her face. “We have our sources. Sources very close to the largest demonic threat here in Sioux Falls, and quite possibly the world.”

Cas stilled. “What threat is that? You should have told me-“

“Told you, to what end, Castiel?” Naomi interrupted.

“To what- to protect my hunter!” He blurted, and Dean saw it the moment Cas realized he’d said the wrong thing. “I mean-“

“I see. Surely now you see that we were right to keep such information from you. Your...affection for your charge has rendered you incapable of clear and impartial judgment once again. You failed to do your sworn duty to the Council and uphold your responsibilities as Watcher and interfered when you were explicitly ordered not to. I’ve recommended to the Council, and they’ve agreed that you be relieved of your duties as Watcher immediately. You’re fired, Castiel. It would be best if you had no further contact with Mr. Winchester.”

Dean gaped. “What? Fired?”

Naomi looked at him and nodded. “Hunters are not the only ones who must perform to the standards set forth by the Council. While you have passed this test, your Watcher has not.”

Dean turned to Cas and found him staring at his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He glanced up at Dean and the fierceness in his eyes made Dean’s breath catch. “I am not going anywhere.” He turned that fierce gaze at Naomi.

The woman however was unmoved by the display, only a vague amusement left her lips turned up minutely, a blonde eyebrow arched condescendingly. “No, well. I didn’t really expect you would adhere to that.” She stood and one of her minions held her coat for her to slip into. She tugged fine black leather gloves over her thin fingers one at a time. “However, when the council assigns a new Watcher, and we shall, if you interfere or countermand their authority in any way, you _will_ be dealt with.” She patted her hair and straightened her lapels. “Are we clear, Mr. Novak?”

Castiel’s chin dipped, glaring up at Naomi coldly. “Oh, we are very clear.”

Naomi’s gaze lingered on Cas for a long moment, disappointment evident in her expression, before she motioned to her underlings, who all but marched out the door with their noses in the air. How the hell had Cas worked and trained with these pricks? They were insufferable.

Naomi tipped a nod in Dean’s direction as she prepared to leave. “You should be proud, Dean. You comported yourself admirably in the face of very difficult odds. Trust those instincts, Dean, for they will take you far.”

He didn’t even know how to respond to that. She still seemed to be willfully ignoring the absolute facts that he hadn’t done shit but try to save his brother by making a demon deal, and that Cas had been the only reason both he and Sammy were there right now.

She was gone before he could say a thing, the front door slamming closed behind her with a gust of frigid wind.

He twisted around at the sound of Cas dropping heavily into a chair, an inscrutable expression on his face, the heat of his anger seemingly dissipated into thin air.

_Shit_. The guy had lost his job, probably more than that, too. Cas had said he wasn’t going anywhere in the heat of the moment, but he had no real reason to stay anymore. Surely the man didn’t want to be a librarian in a high school if the job wasn’t just subterfuge for his actual job. He was probably thinking about the life he had in England. Would he go back to that now? Why _wouldn’t_ he? It was his home, not some frozen Podunk town in South Dakota. Cas was so much better than that, _deserved_ better than being stuck in Sioux Falls with a loser like Dean who hadn’t even graduated high school yet. He could be with anyone he wanted, if he had a choice, why would he choose Dean?

He sighed. “Cas-“

Cas looked up at him, his eyes drowning pools of deep blue. “Dean, I’m so sorry.” He said hoarsely. “I let you down.”

Dean gaped. “What are you talking about? You _saved_ me. Saved _Sammy_. I can never repay you for that.”

Cas nodded blankly. “I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself, not even if Naomi ordered me to do it.”

“You _what_?!” Bobby, who had been silent for so long Dean had honestly forgotten he was there, exploded.

Dean shrugged, embarrassed now. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, Bobby.” He avoided both men’s eyes.

“ _’Seemed like the right thing’_ \- idjit boy. It’s a good job Cas showed up when he did then.” Bobby grumbled, and apparently done with foolheaded teenage boys and lovesick English dumbasses he wheeled himself into the kitchen muttering about needing a drink, leaving Dean and Cas alone for the first time since that morning.

“I think I-“

“Are you okay-“

God this was awkward. Dean rubbed his hands over his face and Cas flushed a blotchy pink as they tried to find their way back to normal.

“I’m exhausted Cas. I think I just- I need some sleep. I need some time to deal with...stuff.” Dean admitted to the floor.

“Dean, I-“ Cas took a deep breath and began again. “I understand. Much has happened today, you need to process.” Dean looked up, almost turned away again at the sad, disappointed look on Cas’ face.

“Yeah.” He chewed on his lip, trying to decide if he wanted Cas to kiss him or not.

Cas nodded, looking like he was steeling himself against whatever he was feeling right then. “I’ll go. I have some...arrangements to make, as it is.” He said quietly.

He turned to leave, and then stopped, raising his face to search Dean’s intently. He walked forward, slow steps forward that Dean had every opportunity to back away from, only he didn’t want to. He waited for Cas to come in close and reached out, wrapping his arms around Cas and holding on for dear life. Cas sighed as their bodies touched and he cupped Dean’s face in his hands. Just when Dean thought he would lift his face for a kiss, Cas just pressed their foreheads together and breathed him in. Dean felt an odd sensation of finality he didn’t understand, but let himself bask in the warmth of the man he loved.

Cas pulled away first and Dean didn’t cling. A chaste kiss was dropped on his mouth, his eyes falling shut at the feeling for only a moment, and then Cas was gone.

****

Mayor Nick D’iavolo stared with disgust at the demon writhing in pain at his feet. Azazel had crawled back to him in defeat, dripping blood and useless apologies all over his five thousand dollar Persian rug.

“You have risked everything I have worked for with your failure, you worthless sack of shit.” His calm tone belied the seething fury within himself.

The demon raised his hands in supplication, perhaps to beg for mercy. Nick D’iavolo was not a merciful man. He snarled in a moment of weakness, giving in to the violence that cried out to be unleashed, and kicked the demon viciously in the face, further shattering the already broken nose. Nick pulled his foot back to kick again when a clear, sweet voice cut through the silence of the office.

“Father, wait. Allow me to punish him for you. Demons can take _so_ much damage and that bullet wound will kill him in time. Please, Father? I’ve been so good, haven’t I?” She cajoled sweetly.

He turned and eyed the demon masquerading as his teenaged daughter and smiled, though he swallowed a not-insignificant amount of unease. “Of course, darling.” He beckoned to her.

The dainty girl stepped forward with a wicked, secret smile spreading over her face as her eyes rolled to white.

****

Castiel woke from a fitful, restless sleep on the Chesterfield in his living room. He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of sleeping in his bed, the sheets still in careless disarray, rumpled from their last round of lovemaking; to remember the quiet laughter, the sound of Dean’s pleasured moaning as he fell apart beneath Castiel one last time. His towel was somehow still damp where it had fallen to the floor after he’d shoved Dean onto the bed impulsively. Dean’s scent mingled together with his own throughout every inch of the bedroom and it was more than he could stand with things between them so uncertain.

He glanced at the clock and frowned to see that it was only shortly after six in the morning, he’d only been asleep for about four hours, and he was still exhausted.

Something had clearly woken him. He sat up slowly as he assessed the room, trying to identify whatever had broken him out of his sleep.

The silence around him suddenly felt oppressive, even the regular sound of the clock ticking away on the wall had faded into a ringing nothingness.

Every hair on his body stood on end, skin prickling almost painfully with goosepimples. His ears strained for even the slightest sound.

After a moment or two, he slipped a dagger from beneath the cushions and padded silently to the front door, twitching the curtain to the side to see if anyone or anything was on the porch.

Nothing.

He huffed a sigh of frustration, tension bleeding out of him like tea from a broken cup. He laughed wryly at his paranoia. The events of the previous thirty-six hours weighed heavily on him, surely that was reason enough to have woken suddenly.

He doubted he’d be able to return to sleep. He’d make a strong pot of coffee and get started making arrangements to have the rest of his things shipped over from London. Surely Balthazar would be willing to handle the final details for him. Though if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he could close the book on his Watcher career without a last trip back. He also didn’t know when he’d stopped thinking of London and his tidy little flat as home...

Thoroughly distracted from his previous concerns, he never heard the soft step of the girl behind him, only feeling a moment of shocked pain as the knife plunged into his spine, the blade twisting cruelly as he fell dying to the floor with Dean’s name on his lips.

***

Dean parked the Impala in front of Cas’ house and sat for a moment, thinking about what he wanted to say.

He hadn’t been able to sleep all night, had tossed and turned in bed, missing the weight of Cas’ arms around him, the warm press of his skin against Dean’s. No matter how conflicted he still felt about the confrontation with the Yellow-Eyed demon, and the Council, deep down he knew how he felt about Cas.

He was going to do everything in his power to convince the man to stay, Watcher or no. Dean needed him, more than he had wanted to admit. Dean wanted to be the guy that deserved someone like Cas.

He took a deep breath and threw open the door, the familiar creak and groan helping to settle his nerves.

The front door opened mid-knock and he felt a smile grow, just knowing Cas was just as eager to see him as he was to see Cas made something soft and _happy_ take root at his core.

The smile froze on his face as the door opened not on his Watcher-turned-lover, but on a pale blonde girl he thought he recognized from school of all places, the front of her white dress splashed with screaming vermillion red.

And then he saw what lay beyond her.

He dropped to his knees like they’d been cut out from beneath him, bile rising in his throat at the sight of Cas’ prone form on the ground, blood spilling in dark gouts from a horrific wound in his lower back. He crawled to Cas, hands slipping in a widening pool of blood as he reached for Cas’ shoulders and turned him over. Cas’ handsome face was slack, his lips blue, eyelashes like limp lace against his cheeks.

Oh, Jesus, please. This wasn’t happening. How-

A floorboard somewhere to his right creaked as someone stepped forward and he jerked his eyes away from Cas’ lifeless face to see a tall, well-built blonde man in a Brooks Brother’s suit stepping out from the darkened kitchen.

“You must be the Dean Winchester I’ve heard so much about.” The man smiled, as bright and empty as a lightbulb. “Mayor D’iavolo, charmed I’m sure.” The man glanced down at Cas’ body still clutched in Dean’s arms, and frowned, pantomiming regret. “Unfortunate circumstances, I know, and for that I apologize. But it had to be done, son. I’ve got campaign promises to keep, you see.” He nodded to himself, it didn’t seem to matter that Dean was just staring uncomprehendingly at him as he talked. “Things _must_ go according to plan, or all my work will be for nothing.”

Dean stared down at Cas. Dead, on this man’s orders. He laid Cas back on the floor gently, a hand stroking over his face.

He lunged from his knees, throwing himself at the man in the doorway, intent on taking him to the ground and pounding his face until it was only so much meat.

Before he could even finish the thought, he found himself slammed up against the wall, immobilized by unseen bonds. The girl, Lilith, stepped from where she still stood by the front door, a delicate hand raised and her eyes rolled to a sickly white. _Fuck_. A demon, she was a _demon_.

The mayor continued his speech as if nothing had happened. “I placed my trust in the wrong, well- _person_ is the wrong word- the wrong creature, and because of his failure, I’m forced to get my hands dirty when I generally prefer to avoid such nasty business.” He smiled slimily. “You see, I need you to go to Hell, my boy. Don’t worry yourself about the why, that won’t matter soon. But it must be now, and so I was given no choice but to escalate certain events.” He gestured offhandedly at Cas. “I’m prepared to make you a deal. You were willing to make one for your brother; will you make one for your lover?” He raised a hand to silence Dean before he could make a sound of protest or agreement. “I can bring him back, no strings attached, and I will even ensure that he and your family will be safe if you agree here and now.”

Dean choked on a laugh, strained as his lungs were constricted. “I don’t buy it. I think you’ll kill them all.”

The man’s face darkened with impatient rage momentarily before the business-like façade was back. “How about a promise? I promise you that Azazel is dead, taken care of, and no longer a threat to you and yours. I have no interest in harming your family, Dean. However,” And there it was, the catch. “However, if you refuse, I _will_ kill them. One by one, until you agree. It’s your choice, son. I can bring your lover back in exchange for your soul in Hell, or, your entire family dies bloody before your eyes, and there will be nothing you can do to bring them back.” How was it possible for a man to sound so reasonable when threatening to murder Dean’s entire family?

Dean’s eyes were drawn to Cas on the floor and he took it all in for a long, long moment, silent tears sliding down his face in burning streaks. Cas had given up everything for him, given him back his brother, this was the least Dean could do to repay him.

God, _Sammy_...if he did this, he’d never get to see his brother again. But what option did he have? He knew if he saw Sam again it would be right before this dickless piece of shit and his attack demon ripped him apart.

He squeezed his eyes shut and broke. “I’ll do it. Don’t hurt them, please.” He begged in a haggard whisper.

Dean could hear the self-satisfied smile in the man’s voice. “A good, smart choice, son. This is a small price to pay for all you’ll get in return.”

He felt fabric brushing against his legs and he opened his eyes to see Lilith crowding in close, Cas’ blood on her dress leaving smears on the front of Dean’s body. She winked at him. “Gotta seal it with a kiss, Dean.” She giggled, and he thought he might throw up. She laid her palms on his chest and leaned in, pressing candy flavored gloss-slick lips to his, harder and harder until it was difficult to breathe.

And then it was over, almost as soon as it began and she was gone. She licked her lips and waved at him as she twirled to follow behind the mayor, leaving him to drop to his knees on the floor.

He jumped as Cas’ eyes flew open and drew a great gasping breath, filling his lungs like a swimmer breaking water as he sat up and scrambled to his knees. He stared at Dean with horror as he noticed the blood on the floor, on Dean’s hands, the cooling liquid plastering his clothes to the backside of his body.

“Dean... _what did you_ do?” He whispered hoarsely.

Dean cried out, crawling across the floor to touch Cas’, needing to feel him breathing, his heart beating. Had he really believed that this would work? He wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck, breathing him in through the overpowering scent of blood and felt his heart breaking. He kissed the skin behind Cas’ ear, working as slowly as he could over the stubbled jaw. “I did what I had to, Cas. I love you, you bastard. I couldn’t let you die.” He sobbed.

He grabbed Cas’ face when the man reared back, to shout at him, fuck knew what, and crashed their mouths together. He needed to taste Cas one last time. He kissed him, desperate, hard, until Cas gave in and began kissing him back. They clung together, eating of each other’s breath, tasting the salt of bitter tears as they fell. He pulled back to whisper in Cas’ ear, he could feel something happening and he knew his time with Cas was nearly up.

“Cas- you gotta promise me you’ll take care of Sammy. He’s not going to understand, and he’s gonna need you.” He held fast when Cas shoved at him.

“Dean, stop it!” He begged.

Dean shook his head. “I love you. I will _always_ love you. But you have to take care of them now, all of them. You have to take care of each other.”

Cas cried and trembled against him and he wrapped his arms around the man he loved as tightly as he could. “It’s gonna be okay, Cas. You have to be strong, baby.” He lifted his face and pressed a kiss to Cas’ lips as he wiped his tears gently. “The hardest thing in the world is to live in it, Cas. You live, for me, okay? Live for me.”

As the last word fell from his lips a liquid hot spike of pain shot through him like molten steel, from the top of his head to his toes and he gasped, falling backward onto his ass and away from Cas. He choked on a mouthful of blood, surprised, trying not to give into the fear as it ate away at his vision until it greyed around the edges.

Cas was shouting, but Dean couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own flesh being torn apart. Ragged furrows from his collarbones to his pelvis appeared like magic, a pain so profound it felt like dry ice, like frostbite, like nothing at all but numbness you know is killing you but you can’t feel.

He blinked, long and slow, and when he opened his eyes, Cas was above him, mouth making shapes of noises Dean couldn’t hear any longer under the sluggish pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Love you. Cas. Love-“ His voice died along with his body, but some cruel trick left Dean’s consciousness aware, or maybe it was his soul, if there really was such a thing, holding on tight, watching out of his open eyes until he just couldn’t anymore.

In the end it felt like hypothermia, just like falling asleep.

And as his dying breath rattled from his lungs one last time, he hoped they would be alright without him.


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter content warnings: torture/psychological torture, non-con touching, mentions of rape, implied suicide of a minor character, grief, magic

Deep within the farthest depths of the lowest bowels of the Pit, the demon Alastair was making preparations for his latest guest. He tested the chains of the rack, the straps of the table he’d had custom made especially for the most intimate of tortures, stroked loving fingers over his blades, laid out in long neat rows of gleaming Hell-forged steel. He was nearly beside himself with anticipation; he hadn’t looked forward to a new project like this in so very long.

For he was Hell’s Grand Inquisitor, Master of Tortures. And also the undefeated chili cook-off champion for the last three millennia, though he didn’t like to brag.

He was casting a critical eye around the chamber, trying to determine if he’d forgotten anything when a resounding knock echoed from behind the door. He smoothed his hands down his shirt front, fastidiously checking his cuffs. He wanted to look his best for the Righteous Man.

Bustling over to the heavy door, he pulled it wide to greet his visitors. A wildly struggling young man was flanked by four impressively large demons, his nicely muscled arms straining with effort against the restraints at his back. Alastair fought not to laugh with delight as the young man managed to free one of his legs to kick out, a strangled yelp sounding as his booted foot connected with immovable meat and bone crunched dully.

Oh, this one would be an absolute _treat_ on his rack, he could feel it.

“Ah ah ah Mr. Winchester.” He chided. “We wouldn’t want to use up all of that delicious fight so soon. I’ve got such wonderful things planned, you see. You don’t want to ruin them now, do you?” He crooned as he stepped closer, twining his fingers in the burlap hood covering his young man’s face. “Let’s have a look at you now, shall we?”

Green eyes glared up at him oh so fiercely, his face was flushed with the effort of his struggling. Sweet Lucifer, he was _breathtaking_. He’d look even better when he was screaming.

**

The breaking of the Righteous Man had proven to be a formidable challenge, though an absolute _pleasure_ to have stretched out upon Alastair’s rack. He took so much pain, so much damage; every slice, every brand, day after day and merely clenched his jaw and bore it, denying Alastair the sweet music of his anguish.

With a sigh, Alastair dropped his blade to the table and wiped his bloody palms on the front of his apron. As much as he wished he could play to his heart’s content and never stop, he did actually have a job to do here.

He brushed a fingertip across Dean’s furrowed brow, droplets of sweat mingling with the blood on his skin. He sucked his finger into his mouth with relish, savoring the bitter flavor of fear and pain and blood. “You can end this pain, Dean, you know that. Simply say yes and become my pupil, and all of this will stop. I sense such... _potential_ in you Dean, we could be incredible together.” His voice had grown husky with imagining it.

He held his breath, waiting, though he knew the waiting was futile.

Dean’s jaw clenched ever tighter, tendons showing in stark relief as he shook his head. “No.” He uttered hoarsely.

Alastair’s held breath shuddered from his body, and he was unable to decide if he should feel ashamed at how pleased he was to hear that answer yet again.

A delicate cough from the doorway derailed his fantasizing and he spun snarling, fully prepared to eviscerate (and he _did_ mean that literally) whoever had dared to interrupt. He stilled at the sight of his oldest friend, though the body she was wearing was different than the last time he’d seen her.

He grinned widely and moved to greet her. “Lilith! What a pleasant surprise to see you here, my dear!” He raised a tiny, pale hand to his lips. From behind him he could hear sounds of struggle from his captive, and he glanced between Dean’s face, twisted with rage and fear, and Lilith’s. He’d known she’d been the one to seal the deal for Dean’s soul, and that had obviously left its mark. Alastair did his best to swallow his jealousy. Endless days spent trying to coax everything he could from his stoic, passive pet, and it was Lilith, with her mere presence, who’d garnered this reaction.

She giggled and waggled her fingers at Dean before turning back to Alastair. “How goes it with our Righteous Man, Alastair?” She asked.

He sighed. “He is incredibly strong willed, it has been quite the task. Now, you know how much I enjoy my work, but I regret to report that I have not broken him yet. There must be something I haven’t tried yet, but I have faith.”

She hummed mellifluously, thinking. _This is why they were friends,_ he thought. Alastair had never met another who was as dedicated to the work as he was. Suddenly her face brightened with a grin and she crooked her finger coyly. He bent to her smaller frame so that she could whisper sweetly in his ear.

He gasped, pulling back to stare at her in awe. “A stroke of genius, my dear! I shall attempt it at once.”

He bid Lilith adieu hastily, eager to begin, reinvigorated with fresh purpose. The door closed behind her as he padded over the brimstone floor to take his place at the Righteous Man’s side once again. He bit his lip at the sheen of apprehension in those green eyes. _Delicious_. Simply delicious. He carded his fingers tenderly through the sweat-soaked spikes of hair and smiled.

“Let’s see what’s inside, precious.”

****

Castiel was numb. Numb to the biting, bitter wind knifing through his coat. Numb to the sorrowful, ashen faces of the people gathered around him. Numb to the sound of frozen earth as it struck the raw pine boards in the grave at his feet.

A wrenching sob sounded nearby and he angled his head enough to see Sam surrounded by the arms of Dean’s friends as his grief overwhelmed him. Castiel felt like an outsider, a dispassionate witness to emotion he himself couldn’t feel.

He couldn’t stand there and watch as the unforgiving earth swallowed Dean one shovelful at a time.

He turned on his heel and walked away from the grave.

**

Castiel’s fingers ached with cold as he dug into hard-packed dirt. It had taken some time to find the right intersection of roads that would be suitable for what he was attempting; long enough that he had almost emptied the bottle of whisky he’d lifted from Robert’s liquor cabinet in addition to the other items he’d helped himself to.

He tucked the small, lumpy pouch into the hole he’d cleared and stared down at it for a moment before sweeping the pile of stones and dusty earth back into place. He staggered back to his feet and quaffed the last quarter inch of pale amber liquid, wiping his trembling mouth with sleeve of his coat as he turned a slow, tense circle at the center of the crossroads.

The air seemed to press in around him as the silence stretched on and on. Fury stirred within his liquor soaked veins, setting him ablaze with it.

“Show yourself you bloody piece of demon shite!” Castiel roared, cocking his arm back and letting the empty bottle fly with a wordless scream. The glass shattered loudly in a glittering spray across the road.

“You bellowed?”

He spun around at the contemptuous voice behind him, struggling to keep to his feet as his vision ran with streamers of color. The body the demon wore was tall and slim in monochromatic black-on-black, nondescript brown hair parted in a neat businessman’s cut. He inspected immaculate nails with bored indifference before looking up with dark eyes that flashed red.

“I want you to bring-“

“You want your precious little hunter rescued from the Pit, yes.” The demon sighed. “Not even an _attempt_ at something worth the trip.” He muttered under his breath, eyes rolling.

“Bring him back!” Castiel yelled, hauling the demon to the toes of his polished oxblood wingtips. “Bring him back and you can take me here and now, no waiting.” His voice broke with an edge of desperation.

The demon laughed nastily and flicked a casual hand at Castiel, sending him flying into the dirt. Glass cut into his palms as he scrambled up onto his knees, gasping for air.

The demon smirked, brushing his hands down front of his clothes, shooting his cuffs. “You assume you have anything worth taking, English. Alastair tarnished you long ago, more effectively than a lifetime of sinning.”

Castiel lunged to his feet to charge the demon with a shout, only to be slapped back down with a swat of power.

“Ah, Castiel.” The demon tutted. “You really don’t have anything to bargain with; your soul’s all out of credit, pal. Honestly, I _only_ came up here because I thought you might be a little more fun than this.” He sighed dramatically, watching Castiel struggle with disinterest. “Instead you’re just desperate and _sad_.”

Castiel choked on a sob and collapsed to the ground as the demon released him with a sound of disgust.

“You pathetic sack of meat. I ought to just put you out of your mis-“ The demon’s insult cut off with a cry of surprise as a smoking hole appeared like magic between its eyes. Light flashed from inside its skull like nightmare lightning and then it was crumpling to the ground in a pile of smoldering ashes and empty clothes.

Castiel gaped and then twisted around, staring up at the figure looming over him. “You stupid sonuvabitch, what did you think you were gonna do?”

His mouth opened and closed on half a dozen excuses. “Bobby, it’s not-“

The older hunter made a sound in his throat and tucked the Colt into his waistband. “The hell it isn’t. I may have been born at night, boy, but it wasn’t _last_ night.” He bent and lifted Castiel to his feet by his lapels with a grunt. “Black cat bones? Graveyard dirt? You think I’m an idjit?”

Castiel slumped, pulling his glasses from his face to scrub a hand over his eyes. God he was exhausted. “I couldn’t just do nothing, Bobby. He’s in _Hell_ for Christ’s sake, suffering eternal torment because he was fool enough to save me.” He looked at Bobby in despair, eyes stinging. “It’s _Dean_. I won’t just leave him there.” His voice broke as the first tears since Dean had died spilled down his cheeks, burning hot in the cold night.

Without a word, Bobby roughly enfolded him in a crush of solid, flannel-clad arms, supporting him as he embraced his grief at last.

***

Dean startled into consciousness with a great gasping breath, jack-knifing upright in the bed.

He frowned, fingers burrowing in the welter of soft sheets and blankets cocooning him in warmth. _Bed? Was he dreaming?_ So far during his stay in Hell, when he wasn’t beneath Alastair’s blade, he’d been kept in a tiny, cramped, cage-like cell; hardly a spare inch in any direction for him to stretch out or find a comfortable position, let alone sleep. _Was this some new kind of torment? Torturing him with a taste of comfort?_

A door opened to his left revealing a figure silhouetted by the bathroom light beyond and he realized with a jolt where he was.

“ _Cas_?” He asked breathlessly.

The man stepped into the bedroom with a wide, warm smile, and Dean felt like a puppet with its strings cut abruptly. “Oh, god. _Cas_.”

Cas stepped to the side of the bed and cupped his cheek in a broad palm. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean scrambled to his knees and threw his arms around the man, clutching him tightly as if he’d disappear with a puff of smoke. He could feel the gentle rumble of Cas’ laugh against his cheek where it pressed to his chest.

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” He stroked a hand through Dean’s hair affectionately.

Dean leaned back and looked up into Cas’ bemused face and frowned. “Cas? How did you get me out?”

Cas tilted his head. “Get you out of where, Dean?”

Dean blinked, incredulous. “Out of wh- Out of _Hell_ , Cas! How did you do it?” He felt his voice rising and struggled not to shout.

Cas laid a hand on his forehead before taking his face between his palms, dark brows furrowed with concern. “Are you feeling all right, Dean? You must have had a nightmare. You’ve been through much in the last two days, it’s understandable. I promise you, love.” Cas’ eyes softened. “You haven’t been anywhere but right here with me this whole time.”

Dean hiccupped air, not wanting to trust the buoyant feeling of hope effervescing within him. “ _What?_ ”

Cas clucked sympathetically and pulled Dean against him, wrapping him up in the circle of his entirely solid arms, murmuring in his ear. “Just a dream, love. It was all a dream.”

***

Castiel sat hunched in a kitchen chair, his fingers curled around a rapidly cooling mug of Earl Grey. He had dragged the thick duvet from his bed down the stairs and pulled it around his shoulders, breathing in the traces of Dean’s scent that still clung to the fabric. He was chilled to the bone, a cold that had nothing to do with the brutal South Dakota winter.

He stared over the rim of his mug at the sunlight-splashed entryway, at the shine of the scoured hardwood. He’d somehow forgotten about the blood; his, Dean’s, a wide pool of indistinguishable _red_ , dried and hard like lacquer. Castiel had dragged out every cleaning product he could find and scrubbed until his fingertips had pruned after wringing out what felt like gallons of pink tinged water. He hadn’t been able to get the blood out of the cracks between the boards, even after frantically taking a toothbrush to the stains like he was channeling Lady Macbeth.

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed around the tight knot of pain in his throat. He couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t just carry on, walking over that floor on his way to the teapot every morning, pretending as if the love of his life hadn’t bled out right before his eyes in that very spot.

He set the untouched mug of tea down on the table and got to his feet, draping the edges of the duvet over his arm as he stepped delicately around the patch of floor where they had died to the stairs. In the bedroom he avoided looking at the scattered clothing left where they’d been tossed in the heat of passion and reached beneath the bed for his battered leather carryall.

***

Dean blinked water from his eyes and sighed at the simple pleasure of hot water on his skin. It felt too good to be true, and he wished it was as simple to believe that this was _real_. That Hell, the cage, Alastair...that that had all been some fever dream his brain had cooked up after all the craziness that had descended upon his life since his birthday. It felt like _years_ since that night, not the mere 36 hours that Cas insisted it had actually been.

Cas had made them both tea and curled himself around Dean on the sofa and let him spill every bit of the nightmare he’d remembered so vividly he could still taste the ash and brimstone on the air.

He sighed and leaned against the cool tile, and could almost swear he could still feel the biting cold of the bars of his cage against his naked shoulders.

He shuddered and opened his eyes, crying out as the shower stall melted around him like acid, the cage of his nightmares suddenly as stark and real as he remembered.

“ _No!_ Please, no! Cas, help me!” His throat felt raw with the strain of keeping the ragged screams trapped inside, refusing to give Alastair the pleasure.

“ _Hello_? _Who’s there?!_ ” A small voice came from the cage beside his. He couldn’t remember ever seeing another in the cages where Alastair tucked him away at the end of each session before. He swallowed his panic and peered into the gloom. A tousled brown head and wide, terrified eyes stared back at him from where they hid behind bare, tucked up knees.

“I’m Dean. What’s your name?” He asked. If he could focus on something, maybe he could find his way back out of the nightmare. Already things were different, and he clung to hope that if he could figure out why his mind had conjured up this person, he’d wake up again warm and safe in Cas’ bed where he belonged.

“Samandriel.” The voice came, smaller than before. “Where are we, Dean?” He asked.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. “This is Hell, Samandriel.”

***

Castiel shouldered his carryall and took a deep breath as he stepped out of the gate at London Heathrow and onto English soil once more.

“Well, don’t you just look a fright.”

He opened his eyes to find his friend, just as lean and angular as he remembered him, blond scruff of facial hair and pale chest exposed by the deep V of his no-doubt ridiculously expensive designer t-shirt. Castiel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, despite everything.

“Balthazar.”

Balthazar clicked his tongue at him, a flash of something in his eyes. “Come here you lovely bastard.” He gruffed softly, pulling Castiel in for a friendly embrace. “I’m so sorry, darling. We’ve just heard.”

Castiel cleared his throat and pushed his friend away gently, squeezing his shoulder.

“Shall we decamp to the nearest pub and get properly pissed?” Balthazar asked, all faux-bonhomie and slanting a look at Castiel. Balthazar would follow his lead until he decided not to; if Castiel wanted to drown his pain in a pint or six of best bitter instead of talking, Balthazar would let him. Probably get him pissed enough to spill his guts instead of hiding behind a stiff-upper lip.

Part of him was almost tempted, but that wasn’t what he was here for. He shook his head. “I need to get into the Archives, Baz.”

Balthazar sighed and looked away. “You know as well as I do they’ll throw you out before you can step two feet into the Council Archives, Cassie. Word around the tea cart is you went and got yourself _excommunicado_. I’d say I was impressed and ply you with liquor until you gave up your secret, but I know you Castiel. You probably made some treacly declaration in front of Naomi and she realized you were arse over tit for that hunter-“ Balthazar winced as he caught himself. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I really was so sorry to hear about your boy. I know how you felt about him.”

Castiel swallowed and shifted his bag. He followed Balthazar out into the drizzly afternoon and into a black cab. “That’s why I need to get in there, Balthazar. I need to get him _back_ , and I know there are texts that can tell me how.” He glanced at his friend as he confided to him in low tones.

Balthazar exhaled noisily, head tipping back against the padded seat. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

***

“You said ‘Cas’ earlier, wh-who is that? Is that who brought us here?” Samandriel asked from his cage.

Dean had tried closing his eyes what felt like hours ago, hoping he’d wake up and this would all be a nightmare again. He called up Cas’ face in his mind, the deep blue of his eyes, the bow of his lips, the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw.

He smiled sadly to himself. “No, no...Cas- Castiel, he was- _is_ my-“

“Castiel? You don’t mean Castiel Novak, do you?” Samandriel’s voice rose tremulously, almost panicked.

Dean opened his eyes and jerked his head around to see Samandriel backing himself into the corner of his cage, pressing himself even tighter against the bars. He frowned. “How do you know that name?” He asked harshly.

Samandriel’s eyes were wide, swimming in his ghostly pale face. “He was my Watcher, my lover, until-“

“Wait.” Samandriel’s mouth snapped shut at Dean’s exclamation. “Your _Watcher_? You mean you’re a _hunter_?”

Samandriel gulped. “I-I was. Once. Are _you_ a hunter, too?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer and then the rest of Samandriel’s words hit him. “Your _lover_?!” He stared as Samandriel somehow went even paler, and he knew...

***

The junior Watcher that had been comfortably ensconced behind the Archive’s reference desk now raced behind them, nervous hands flapping as he tried to get them to stop without raising his voice above a polite whisper.

“ _Please stop_!” He hissed. “You-you can’t go back there!” The young man flushed blotchily as they began to attract attention. A few diligent researchers looked up in irritation from their volumes, some of their eyes going comically wide as they recognized Castiel.

He snorted; Watchers really were the worst gossips. Nothing stayed secret for very long.

The junior Watcher had finally gotten over his nerves and had jogged around them to stand in Castiel’s path, hands on his hips as he gathered himself for a proper telling off.

Without breaking stride, Castiel smashed a fist into the unfortunate young man’s face, neatly side-stepping as he crumpled into a heap on the parquet.

Balthazar snickered at his side.

“Oh Castiel, I really have missed you.”

***

“ _Dean? Are you all right?”_

Dean sputtered water as he gasped awake, the shower had gone cool at some point and he was shivering where he had slid to the bottom of the stall, pressed into the corner. He choked, scrambling to slap the water off.

The door opened and Cas rushed inside, yanking a towel from the bar and throwing it around Dean’s shoulders as he dropped to his knees on the mat beside the shower. “Dean! What’s happened?”

Dean was hyperventilating, throat squeezed down in fear. As Cas touched him, his skin so incredibly warm against Dean’s, he began laughing. His laughter tore out of him in jagged, hysterical bursts until at some point they dissolved into sobs.

**

Cas held him closely as they lay in the bed, cocooned in the warmth of blankets and body heat. Cas’ shoulder was solid beneath his cheek, the smooth weave of his shirt pressing tiny creases into his skin. He almost wished Cas would take the shirt off so they could be skin to skin, but Dean was too exhausted and too comfortable to move enough to let him. Cas’ hand traced a soothing line down his spine, over and over again, murmuring soft words of reassurance to him, grounding him back in reality.

The nightmare flashback had chilled him to the bone, especially considering the new addition to his memory of it. Was it a part of the nightmare he’d forgotten?

“Do you want to tell me about it, pet?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean shivered, swallowed. “I had a flashback in the shower, I don’t know why. Something...anyway, I remembered a part of the nightmare I guess I forgot. There was someone else there in the cages with me. He said his name was Samandriel. He said-“

Cas tensed beneath him and Dean raised his head. “Cas? Did you have a hunter before me?” He held his breath as he waited for Cas’ answer.

The man licked dry lips, and Dean’s pulse began to race. “I did have a hunter before you, Dean. And his name _was_ Samandriel.” Cas frowned slightly, eyes going distant as if recalling the willowy, tousle-haired boy Dean remembered now from his nightmare. “It’s been nearly five years, now.”

Dean could barely breathe as he made himself ask. “He said- In the nightmare, he said you were his lover. Was that true, too?”

Cas’ eyes flinched and Dean made a soft sound of denial. “Dean, forgive me. I don’t know how, but you must have learned about Samandriel somehow.” He looked so remorseful, so sincere. “I should have told you myself.” He lifted his hand to cup Dean’s cheek and Dean jerked away without thinking.

“Can you forgive me, love?” Cas asked miserably as Dean climbed off of his lap to sit at the edge of the bed. “I promise to tell you anything you wish to know.”

“I need to think, Cas. Please.” His voice strained.

A sigh and the bed shifted behind him, the quiet sound of the bedroom door closing felt somehow final.

***

It took much longer for Naomi and her gaggle of sycophants to catch up with him than he expected. He and Balthazar had spent nearly a day in the deepest catacomb of the Archives searching for the text he needed before they found it. Along with the text, he’d stuffed several artefacts in his carryall, padding them in several pairs of the soft gloves the archivists used when handling the oldest of volumes to prevent the oils in their fingers from harming the pages and inks.

Balthazar was chattering quietly as they stepped through the arched doorway of the main library when Naomi appeared from around a corner as if she had been waiting for the most dramatic moment possible. She probably had been.

“I cannot allow you to leave with that text, Castiel. I know why you have come.” She intoned reproachfully.

“I honestly don’t give a rat’s arse, Naomi. I _am_ leaving. I _will_ rescue Dean from Hell. I don’t need or desire your approval.” He sneered and pushed forward, checking her delicate shoulder with his own.

The Watchers around Naomi seemed to step forward as one, as if to restrain him. Naomi raised her hand in the air and they paused, frowns on their faces as they fought with themselves not to question her order.

Balthazar trailed behind him, watching Naomi with narrowed eyes until they disappeared through the gate and out into the noisy London street.

***

Dean stared out of the window at the ice coated trees beyond, at his reflection in the glass until he almost couldn’t recognize his own face. _What was happening?_ He felt like he was losing his mind, everything so screwed around and backward he didn’t know which way was up anymore. He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see the dull, confused expression on his face.

He heard the padding of footsteps behind him and he tensed, waiting for Cas to speak, to demand he forget about his nightmare and come back to reality. The footsteps stopped and silence stretched on and on, his anxiety skyrocketing.

He opened his eyes and saw not Cas, but Alastair reflected in the window behind him and he spun around as once again the world dissolved into the nightmare.

“Getting acquainted with our guest, Dean?” Alastair purred, one eyebrow lifting in amusement.

The occupant of the other cage squeaked in fear. “Who are you? Why am I here?” Samandriel asked, voice shaking. He pressed himself into his corner, and it seemed by this point he should be coming out the other side as hard as he’d shoved himself in the tight, tiny space as Alastair stepped away from Dean’s cage toward Samandriel’s.

The demon stroked the bars, a mock pout on his face as he gazed at him. “You mean you don’t remember our time together, little one?” He laid a hand on his chest and affected a hurt look. A wicked smile spread over thin lips. “Perhaps this will help you remember.”

Alastair stood back from the bars and then...he changed. His tall, rangy body seemed to shrink; shoulders broadening, pale thin hair grew thick and dark and...

Oh, Jesus no.

The demon winked as Samandriel began screaming, and Dean watched in horror as sapphire blue eyes as familiar to him as his own rolled to sickly, milky white.

***

Castiel flipped another onion-skin page and began scribbling notes in his already half-filled journal. Balthazar was passed out face down in a book, cold cartons of takeaway Chinese littered the tabletop among piles of reference texts.

Castiel tossed his glasses down and pressed knuckles into his eyes, trying to relieve some of the strain. The last several days had been a whirlwind of international travel, research, translation, and terrible food that his friend had seemed to delight in. He was so _close_. Only a few translations and one extremely rare, priceless artefact stood in his way. Balthazar and his surprisingly deep pockets and Swiss bank account were on the trail of the artefact, leaving Castiel to the translation of the spell.

From beyond the doors of the high school library, Castiel started as he saw a trickle of students begin to fill the hallways. He consulted his watch, which seemed to confirm that he’d researched away the weekend and the week had started anew. He’d taken a week’s leave of absence from the library between cloistering himself in his home and traveling to London and back. He was expected to be back at work Monday morning, which...was apparently now.

Just as he was considering locking the library door so he could quickly tidy up and hurry Balthazar back to his house to sleep off his MSG hangover, perhaps take a shower and at least attempt to look the part of respectable, responsible school librarian, the doors swung open revealing Charlie, Jo, and Ash. The teenagers gaped at him in shock.

“You’re back?” Charlie sputtered, anger beginning to leak through her shock, and Castiel just didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever had aerated her now.

Balthazar snorted himself awake, a page stuck to his cheek as he sat up with a groan and a hand at his lower back. “Whuh?” He blinked at the teenagers who were now staring at him with obvious curiosity. “Oh, hullo dearies. Cassie? Won’t you introduce us?” He recovered smoothly, crooking a grin at them.

Castiel rubbed at his forehead and replaced his glasses. He motioned from the teenagers to Balthazar and back. “Balthazar – this is Charlie, Jo, and Ash, D-Dean’s friends from school. Charlie, Jo, Ash – this is Balthazar, a friend and fellow Watcher.”

Balthazar rose to his feet and reached for Jo’s hand, bringing it to his lips with a wink. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

Jo visibly swooned at Balthazar’s posh accent and manner, a pink blush stealing over her cheeks as she stuttered a greeting. Charlie glared between Jo and Balthazar and crossed her arms, nodding warily at the slick Englishman. Ash just sketched a wave and moved to take his usual seat at the large table.

Charlie rounded on Castiel again, though kept an eye on Jo where she was clumsily attempting to flirt with Balthazar. “You just _left_ , Cas! What the hell?” She planted a hand on her hips, her other arm still in its cast, only now the pink wrap was decorated in lurid Sharpie tattoos of characters Castiel lacked the pop culture knowledge to identify.

He growled in irritation, his patience frayed. “I do not answer to you Charlotte Bradbury, you would do well to remember that. What I do in my own time is _my_ prerogative and not yours.”

She scowled at him and stomped over to the table, reaching for the fragile codex he was translating. His vision hazed red, and he had her wrist in his hand before he knew he had moved. He jerked her away from the table and closed the book without looking. She stared at him in hurt outrage and tore herself free, cradling her hand against her stomach. Jo had taken notice of Charlie’s reaction and stepped away from Balthazar, putting an arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“What _happened_ to you, Cas?” Charlie asked querulously, angry tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Castiel erupted, “ _What_ happened _to me?_ The man I love, the boy I was charged with protecting, was _torn to fucking shreds_ before my eyes because he _sold his soul for my_ life, Charlie! That’s what fucking happened to me!” He watched as she shrank back, tears falling as horror replaced her anger. “Now leave me in peace so that I can _get him back_!” He roared, spittle flying from his mouth.

Jo and Ash hurried an openly sobbing Charlie out of the library without looking back and Castiel felt the hot, terrible wind rush out of him, leaving him feeling hollowed out and awful. He sank into his chair and put his head in his hands.

“Well...that was bracing.” Balthazar said. Castiel glared up at him from his hands and the man just cocked an eyebrow and slid back into his seat. “So, where were we?”

Castiel heaved a sigh and opened the codex once more, gingerly flipping the pages to where he’d left off, trying not to think about the cruel way he’d shouted at Charlie. In the depths of his own pain he’d wanted to slash and hurt, though it hadn’t made him feel at all better. Once he had Dean back, he would do damage control and apologize to her.

Once he had Dean back, everything would be right again.

***

Dean came to screaming on the floor with Cas shaking him roughly, shouting. “Dean! Dean, snap out of it!”

Dean screamed, raw and terrified, yanking himself out of Cas’ grip and crab-crawling until his back was to the corner. Cas loomed over him, confusion and impatience on his face. “What is it now, Dean?”

He panted, feeling his heart in his throat. “You’re not Cas. You’re a demon, you’re Alastair!”

Something like disgust turned Cas’ handsome face ugly before it smoothed back into concern. “Dean, I’m worried for you. How could you believe I’m a demon?” Pain crossed his features as he took a step closer and Dean flinched. “You need to fight this, Dean.”

Dean clenched his eyes shut and pounded a fist into the wall until all he could feel was pain.

**

Samandriel kept screaming long after Alastair/Cas walked away. Dean sucked in a breath, these flashbacks, or whatever they were, were coming fast and faster and he was starting to have trouble trusting which was real and which was the nightmare.

The wailing was grating on Dean’s already shredded nerves. “Shut the fuck _up_!” He screamed, unable to listen to it for one more second.

Samandriel whimpered, but the screaming had stopped, thank Christ. Dean’s head thumped back against his cage with a dull sound of metal against his skull.

“What the hell was that all about? You obviously know Cas...how do you know Alastair?” He said gruffly, apparently not able to leave well enough alone.

Samandriel gulped, whimpered as if he was thinking about screaming again. “I-I was always fascinated by demons. I thought if I could summon one I could learn more about them, I thought I knew how to handle it.” His eyes glazed over in horror. “I was so wrong, Dean. Castiel had agreed to help me, at first, but he backed out before we’d decided to try it, said we shouldn’t tempt fate by messing with evil. I was upset, I wanted to prove him wrong, that I could do it.” Samandriel swallowed loudly, sniffled. “Castiel must have found out what I was going to do, he- he burst into my flat just as I’d finished the incantation.” He looked at Dean imploringly. “I didn’t know Alastair would possess him, how could I have known? He did such horrible things, Dean. For _days_. For days, Alastair and Castiel tortured me, raped me. By the end of it I didn’t know who was in control, the demon or the man. I think he _liked_ it, by the end.” Samandriel whispered, his expression hollow, broken.

Dean felt sick. How could Cas, the Cas he loved, how could that have ever been him? How could Dean believe it? Suddenly he had a terrible thought.

“How did you end up in hell, Samandriel?” He asked breathless, somehow knowing already.

Samandriel laid his head back down on his knees, sobs shaking his shoulders. “I tried to get past it, after they rescued us, after they exorcised Alastair, but....I couldn’t ever run far enough or fast enough to forget. I thought it would be easier, you know? Instead, I just woke up _here_.”

***

“Cassie, I’ve got it!” Balthazar’s shout from downstairs had Castiel moving at a run until he could see his friend’s face. He was tapping at light-speed at the keyboard of his laptop, clearly finalizing the negotiations he’d been embroiled in for the last two days. “That little French warlock drove a viciously hard bargain, but in the end I got him to give up the goods by throwing in-“

“I actually don’t want to know.” Castiel threw up a hand, trying not to imagine what his friend had offered to the warlock who had owned the last known Urn of Osiris in existence. He hadn’t exactly protested when Balthazar had ‘helped himself’ to a small but varied collection of highly dangerous artefacts from the vault when they’d been in the Council Archives. If one of them had been enough to win them the Urn, that was good enough for him.

Balthazar pretended to pout, but gave it up as a bad job and preened instead. As he finished off his communications and snapped the laptop shut, his self-satisfied look turned contemplative.

“Are we really going to do this?” He asked, as if up until now this had all been a lark.

Castiel cut a sharp look at his friend. “’We’re’ not doing anything, Baz. _I_ am doing this. You need not be involved with the casting of the spell if it makes you uneasy.” He said curtly.

Balthazar crossed his arms over his chest, a tart look on his face. “Don’t be that way, Cassie. I’m only seeing where your head is at.” Despite the imperious tone, the way he chewed on his lip belied his uncertainty and Castiel nearly called him out on it.

“My head is exactly where it needs to be.” He turned on his heel to head back upstairs to prepare. He cast a look over his shoulder.

“We do this tonight.”

***

“Dean, you must fight these delusions. Your mind is poisoning you against me. Don’t let them win you away from me, pet.” Cas’ voice floated down to him and he looked up to find himself in Cas’ bed again. Cas stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at him in disappointment.

He coughed. “S-Samandriel said-“

Cas made a rough sound. “Samandriel was a troubled young man, Dean. Do you really believe that I would do the things your mind is telling you I’ve done? Where has this come from!” Cas twisted and his reflection was caught in the mirror over the dresser. Pale lemon-colored light from the setting sun played tricks with Dean’s vision, for a moment he could have sworn Cas’ eyes had flashed white.

He sobbed.

Cas’ shoulders slumped. “It’s as I feared. You say you trust me, but you don’t, Dean. How can you? How can you say you trust me when you allow your subconscious to invent such vile lies!” He spun and looked at Dean, his eyes blazing. “How am I to compete with this?” His face crumpled and he went to his knees beside the bed, grabbing Dean’s hand between both of his. “I want to _help_ you, Dean.”

Dean curled around Cas’ arm, feeling his tears soaking into the pillowcase. “I do trust you, Cas, I promise. Please, help me. Tell me what to do, please.”

Cas sighed and lifted Dean’s chin with one hand, a relieved, pleased look on his face as he gazed down on him and stroked his cheek with the edge of his thumb.

“Listen carefully, pet. Do exactly as I say and you’ll be free, right where you belong, with me.”

***

The final rays of the setting sun flashed brightly before sinking below the horizon as Castiel settled himself upon Dean’s frozen grave. He and Balthazar had come through the salvage yard on foot to avoid being detected by Bobby. Ominous looking clouds had gathered in the distance and Castiel said a silent prayer that he would be finished before the heavens decided to open up and dump their displeasure upon him.

This was no trifling spell he was attempting. He was planning on challenging the natural order of the universe and reversing Death itself. Nothing about Dean’s death had been natural, which meant he had more than a shot at success here.

Balthazar lifted himself to sit cross-legged on the flaking hood of a half-rotted out car with a shudder at the thought of the rust stains that would be left on his trousers. He pulled two identical thermoses from the bag on his shoulder and twisted the cap off of the first, nose wrinkling in disgust as pungent steam of Castiel’s potion rose into the frigid air. He swiftly tightened the cap again and tossed it to Castiel, who caught it effortlessly, feeling the liquid jostle and slosh against the inside of the container. The other thermos released the homey scent of PG Tips, an amusingly plebian choice in tea for the man who’d worn handmade Italian shoes to go traipsing through the woods.

Castiel shut out the sound of Balthazar’s hum of pleasure as he sipped at the piping hot tea and poured a measure of his own concoction into the Urn that had arrived hardly an hour ago. Balthazar’s black card had been pressed into service to pay an exorbitant amount for express courier via private jet from France and Castiel had never been more thankful for his friend and the lengths he seemed to be willing to go to in the name of that friendship. If this worked, he had no idea how he’d repay Balthazar’s generosity.

The thin pottery burned against his fingers as he emptied the thermos and tossed it outside of the circle he had drawn atop the grave. He took a deep breath and braced himself, lifting the cup to his lips.

“Godspeed, Cassie.” Balthazar said solemnly, lifting his mug as if to toast.

Castiel acknowledged his friend with a nod, and then tossed back the brackish potion, swallowing it down even as his body tried to reject it with a gag. He knelt tensely, waiting for the effects to begin.

Just as he had convinced himself that he’d gone _wrong_ somewhere, a sudden knife-sharp pain ripped through his abdomen, leaving him clutching his stomach with both hands. The Urn slipped from his nerveless fingers to shatter on the ground, but that seemed to be the least of his worries now.

He could feel hot trickles of blood from his ears, eyes, nose, and he choked on a cough, a great flood of blood pouring down from his lips as his vision began to go dark. Perhaps that was the storm rolling in, though.

The last thing he heard was Balthazar frantically calling his name as a terrifyingly violent crack rent the air and the earth caught afire with an awesome white light.

***

Dean was stretched out on Alastair’s rack once again after what felt like years of being in the cage, but for the first time since he’d began having the nightmare, he wasn’t afraid. No that was a lie, he was _so_ afraid, but he was afraid of his nerve failing him at the last moment, of letting Cas down and being stuck inside this prison forever. Alastair/Cas smiled down at him in anticipation and stroked a hand down his trembling flank, patting him like a nervous animal before reaching for the first of his blades.

He raised the blade to the light so that Dean was sure to see what was coming. Dean used his fear of failing and let it transform his face into a mask of terror, meant to tempt Alastair into offering him the choice he’d offered hundreds, thousands of times, before he ever laid that blade into Dean’s flesh. He whimpered, letting himself remember the pain to motivate him into doing what Cas had told him to do.

“Oh, Dean...so afraid, it tastes like sweet, rancid wine on my palate. Is all that fear because of this?” He motioned down Cas’ body with the blade and Dean let his eyes widen even further. Alastair/Cas’ eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure. “ _Mmm_. Should I spare you the torment of handsome Castiel sinking this blade into you? Do you want to make a choice for me, pet?”

Something about the purred endearment struck Dean as odd, but his moment was here and he couldn’t let Cas down. He opened his dry mouth and nothing but air hissed out. Cas/Alastair bent at the waist, putting his ear near Dean’s face.

“What was that, precious?” He whispered.

Dean sobbed once, he had to do it. “Yes. Okay? Yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”

A beatific smile spread across Cas’ face and Dean felt warmed by its radiance. With a snap of the demon’s fingers, Dean was on his feet beside the rack, cradled in Cas’ arms. Samandriel was bound to the rack in his place, gagged, eyes rolling in horror as he begged and pleaded for mercy.

A warm hand wrapped around Dean’s and curled his fingers around the cold steel of the blade. Dean watched numbly as his hand was lifted up and guided to rest at the pulse pounding at Samandriel’s throat. Watched as the guiding hand pulled away and Dean knew what to do now.

He met Samandriel’s eyes as he drew the razor sharp blade across the pale skin, almost fascinated as the skin parted and blood fell like a final curtain on a stage. He glanced back up just as the light began to fade from those eyes and felt a prickle of regret, even though he knew this wasn’t real, all part of the nightmare.

As arms wrapped tightly around him murmuring praise in his ear, he squeezed closed his eyes and mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”

**

Silence like static washed over him like an electric blanket smothering him for a brief, panic filled moment until with a pop like a sonic boom, the air cleared and he felt himself drop back into his body.

He opened his eyes. The soft amber light from the bedside lamp was gentle on his eyes, holding back the darkness that had fallen outside the window of Cas’ bedroom.

He laughed, joyfully, triumphantly.

Warm bare arms slipped around his waist and he realized with a pleasant jolt that he was naked, and so was the man pressed behind him, evidenced by the firm, persistent cock nudging against his back. He rocked against it, eager. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he’d had Cas inside him, and with a flash of desire he realized he _needed_ this, needed that connection to finally convince himself this was _real_ , that Hell had just been a bad dream.

He reached down to pull the arms up around his chest and opened his eyes to press a kiss to the fever-hot skin of Cas’ forearm.

Pale, unmarked, _un-tattooed_ , skin.

He froze, a sick wash of denial and fear turning his blood to ice in his veins.

“You’re not Cas.”

An evil laugh sounded next to his ear and he struggled to get away as his earlobe was taken between sharp teeth.

“ _’And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell.’_ ’ A hand closed around his throat and the cock behind him was thrust roughly against his crease. “ _’As he breaks,’_ ” The hissing voice in his ear moaned. “ _’As he breaks, so shall_ it _break’_ ”

With a scream crawling up his throat he broke away from the arms around him, spinning to face Cas/Alastair as the bedroom that he’d convinced himself was reality melted away into Hell.

“No...” He whispered desperately, his mind tearing itself apart to try to deny what he had done.

Samandriel hung from his chains, body slack and decorated in brilliant scarlet that glittered like rubies.

Alastair wrapped his arms around Dean again and banded around him, immovable. He nosed behind Dean’s ear and pressed a kiss to the skin behind it. “We had to break the first seal before any of the others. Now that the first is broken, the others will fall like so many dominoes.” He hummed his satisfaction. “When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn the earth to ashes, we’ll owe it all to you, pet.”

A bitter tear slipped down Dean’s cheek and he felt a growing sense of something building within him, something terrible coming inexorably closer to swallow him whole.

When pain like a brand from the forges of Hell itself grabbed him, he didn’t fight it. Wherever it was dragging him to, he deserved it.

***

_Castiel floated. He had no body. No substance. No mass. But somehow, somehow he knew where to go, where to look. He knew with absolute certainty where to find his hunter._

_He closed his eyes and_ reached _through the ether, until his hand-not-hand grasped onto a firm shoulder he had traced with fingertips and lips and thought and breath. Light exploded around him and then there was nothing at all._

****

A storm like Sioux Falls had never seen before raged around them, the lights flickering crazily, strobing like a nightmare in the intensive care ward at Sioux Falls General and chaos reigned.

People were shouting everywhere. Doctors and nurses shouted vitals and orders back and forth as they worked, patients and their families in a panic as the tension grew to astronomical levels.

Bobby stood on the fringes being shouted at by Sheriff Jody Mills and really all he wanted to do was stick his fingers in his ears and walk the fuck away.

Two nights ago, a storm of biblical proportions had rolled into the sky above South Dakota. Shortly after that a half-full tank of gasoline on the property of one Bobby Singer, owner and operator of Singer Salvage had exploded into a sky-high fireball as it had been struck by lightning.

As Bobby had raced outside to investigate, a British man he had never met had sprinted directly at him with the body of a British man he _did_ know thrown over his shoulder as he ran.

Two nights ago, a British librarian named Castiel Novak had fallen into a coma on top of an unmarked grave on the edge of Singer Salvage, blood leaking from everywhere. No one could explain what had happened to him, what _was_ happening to him.

Sheriff Jody Mills was demanding in that way she did when she thought Bobby was being shady that he tell her what the hell had happened on his property, when the sound of a commotion of raised voices and wailing medical alarms drew his attention back to the bed in which lay the comatose librarian.

Castiel was convulsing, body jerking and thrashing in the sheets, and the medical personnel were screaming for this drug and that drug and shouting out random numbers that made sense to them but none to Bobby Singer.

Suddenly, the seizure stopped, and the lights exploded overhead in a shower of sparks. After a moment the backup genny kicked on and bluish emergency lights flickered on.

Bobby felt his breath catch in his chest at the sight of Cas Novak, standing beside his bed, glowing eyes wide and seeing nothing in the room, arm stretched out in front of him as if grasping for something. He sucked in a gasping breath and uttered one word before he collapsed to the floor.

_“Dean!”_

****

Dean came to in a box, narrower and more confining than even his cage had been. The air was suffocating and he tasted dirt on his tongue. His shoulder was a seething mass of agony as he laid there and tried not to struggle.

Was this another level of Hell?

He choked on dirt and felt panic shooting from the top of his head to his toes. Out, he had to get _out_.

****

Sam huddled on the couch in Bobby’s living room , watching out the window as the storm that had battered and buffeted the house for the last two days and nights dissipated and faded as if it had never been.

He was anxious, on edge and frightened. Bobby had been at the hospital ever since that first night, and the wind and rain had been hurricane force without a single break, making the roads dangerous and impassable.

Sam knew he would be okay here alone, there was plenty of food and flashlights and Bobby’s generator had only blinked out once or twice. The place could probably withstand a siege.

He rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted. He hadn’t been able to sleep for anything and now that the storm seemed to have passed, he felt almost all of the tension drain out of him in a rush.

He froze at the sound of a heavy footstep on the porch, the tension back as if it had never left. A thump rattled the front door in its frame and then...silence.

Sam crept to the door, ears straining for sound.

His heart leapt in his throat at the hoarse voice on the other side of the wood, and then he was scrabbling at half a dozen high-security latches and bolts to throw the door open wide to reveal the filthy, slumped figure on the doorstep.

“Dean?!”

****

Dean sat blankly on the couch, wrapped in at least four stiflingly warm knitted blankets and watched Sam go back and forth between flitting around in a rush to get him food and water and a first aid kit and stopping abruptly and turning horror-movie slow to stare at him as if he expected Dean to have disappeared if he wasn’t looking hard enough.

“Sammy.” He rasped and his brother startled out his latest staring session as if he’d been electrocuted. “Sammy, I’m okay.”

He was pretty goddamned fucking far from _okay_ but his brother was spooked enough as it was, he didn’t need to be _honest_.

The raw scrapes on his knuckles dragged and caught against the blankets and he winced, pushing them off so he could look. Movies make crawling out of a grave something cinematic and physically impossible to do without getting torn up in one way or another. The wounds were raw and still oozing a little bit; the very least he could do was clean them up so he wouldn’t catch some fucking infection.

He swallowed a harsh laugh that sounded faintly mad inside his own head. Imagine that. Being brought back from the dead, yanked out of Hell by who the fuck knew what, only to die from gangrene in his hands from climbing out of his own fucking grave. Jesus.

He grabbed for the cloth and bowl of water Sam had brought him in one of his earlier trips and cleaned the dirt from his hands as gently as possible. He hissed at the feeling of the terrycloth rubbing against the edges of his knuckles.

“Sammy?” He asked as he worked, trying to distract both him and his brother who was watching the proceedings with a morbid fascination. Sam’s gaze jerked up to him. “Sammy where is everybody. What the hell has been happening around here?”

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. “Well, uh. You _died.”_ He paled a little. “You do know that you died, right?” Dean nodded; crawling out of a grave was generally a pretty strong check in the _“I might have been dead”_ column. Sam nodded a little wildly, hair flying around his face. “That was two, almost three weeks ago. I think-“ He swallowed again. “I think everyone is at the hospital right now? Probably. There was this huge freak storm a few days ago and an explosion or something, and Cas was like in a coma.” He stopped and stared at Dean. “Oh my god. Cas _did_ it. _He got you out_ , Dean! He said he was going to and then he went away to England and we all thought he was gone for good, but then he came back and went radio silent for the last like week, and now _here you are_.”

Dean nearly choked on his tongue. Cas. Feelings of shame and revulsion and horror crawled up his throat like bile. He struggled to keep his breathing even and not give into the panic. If he saw Cas right now, he’d be thrown right back into that nightmare-reality where nothing was real and everything was a trick, and _everything_ was Cas.

“That’s real good, Sammy. I’m real glad I’m not dead.” He said lamely, but thankfully Sam didn’t seem to notice.

He continued to clean his hands.

**

There was a party happening in Dean’s honor, Bobby’s house seemingly full to bursting with people who were just _so glad, Dean_ that he was alive. As if people came back from the dead all the time, so logically you threw a party. It felt like a wake in reverse.

He was just fucking tired, really. Which, was kind of ironic since he’d technically been flat on his back getting nothing _but_ rest for weeks, apparently.

He’d escaped to his room as soon as he’d been able, but not before Cas had staggered in on the arm of a lanky, smarmy British dude who was apparently Cas’ best friend that he’d never told Dean about. Dean wondered how much he hadn’t told him. How much of what Samandriel had told him had actually been true, or had it all been part of the trick?

Cas had stared at him from across the room, sapphire eyes burning and Dean was more than half-terrified they’d roll white and he’d be right back down in Hell with Alastair/Cas...

Dean had bolted like a piece of shit coward and locked the door.

A knock had sounded at the door a few minutes later, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it.

A soft wounded sound came from behind the door and then, _“I’m so glad you’re back, Dean. I love you so much.”_

Dean had crumpled to the floor between his bed and the wall and cried until he felt empty and calm again.

**

The midnight sky was bright and clear outside of his window, and still, Dean couldn’t sleep. He’d close his eyes and images would flash behind his lids that made him want to scream or puke.

With a sigh he rolled to his feet and crossed to the window, throwing open the sash to pull in lungful after lungful of winter air that tasted like snow instead of ash or blood or grave dirt.

He stilled when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye from the edges of the salvage yard. His breath burst out of him in a puff of white at the sight of broad shoulders and slim hips leant up against a vintage truck, hand raised in greeting.

Dean ducked back into the bedroom and without more than a spare thought for what he was about to do, he threw a few pairs of jeans, boxers, and a couple of interchangeable flannels and henleys in his hunting duffel and tossed it out the open window before shrugging into his leather jacket.

It was a matter of seconds to shimmy down the drainpipe that ran along the side of the house, booted feet crunching on the ground loudly enough to make him wince as he landed.

He held his breath for a few beats to see if he’d roused anyone’s attention. Nothing.

Dean loped across the frost barren yard to the figure by the truck and halted as he came close enough to see his face.

“Benny.” He breathed, heart pounding in his chest as he greeted the vampire.

“’Lo, darlin’.” Benny smiled that gentle crooked smile Dean still remembered and then reached out and reeled Dean in to wrap his arms around him. Benny’s skin was as cold as his clothes, as cold as the night air. He either hadn’t fed recently, or had been standing outside his truck watching Dean’s window for a while. Dean didn’t really care though; he burrowed his face against the wool of Benny’s coat and laughed, surprised when the sound came out jagged around the edges.

Benny tilted his head back with a hand on his chin, eyes searching Dean’s face. “When I heard you...I came as soon as I could. Then you were back, and I-“ He stared at Dean as if memorizing him. “I had to see you, Dean. You understand?”

Dean nodded, overwhelmingly glad that Benny was here.

Benny didn’t even question the bag over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean knew he could ask and Benny wouldn’t refuse him. “Benny?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Will you take me somewhere?”

Benny sighed and tightened his arms around him for a moment before releasing him.

“Yeah sweetheart.”

Silently they climbed in the cab of the truck, and Dean was struck with a sense of nostalgia that brought thick tears to the back of his throat and stung at his eyes.

Benny cranked the engine and laid his hand on the gear stick, glancing at Dean as he paused. “Where to?”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes as he sank into the seat.

“Just drive, Benny.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment, kudos, or subscribe for more of this work and other works if you enjoyed!


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